


Wooing Watson

by distantstarlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BAMF John Watson, Dark Past, Explicit Sexual Content, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No Description of Rape! Seriously, One True Pairing, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective John, Sad John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a lot of things but the most important thing, in his opinion, is being best friends with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

John Watson was a doctor and a soldier. He’d worked his way from the bottom on up, starting out poor and essentially staying there but becoming rich in life experiences as his tendency to survive impossible situations kept him going time and time again. John thought of himself as a very ordinary man, someone indistinguishable from the average simply because there was nothing about John Watson that stood out except that for all intents and purposes John had already died twice, once in Afghanistan where he was shot by a sniper, and once in London when his best friend killed himself, and in many ways, John as well.

 John was a survivor which was why he was still at 221 B Baker Street despite the pains of his past. He had soldiered through the blackest parts of his life more than once and had come out the other side. John knew what it felt like to keep on moving even when your heart had given up, your spirit never could. That was then and this was now. John had come to terms with it all.

 In this particular now John Watson was frustrated. It was Christmas tomorrow and for the first time in years he was sharing that time with his flatmate. John had been looking forward to it but Sherlock didn't seem to register the increase in garish decorations or the addition of cold and snow. The young pale man was focused on a case right now, something to do theft of electricity or something like that. John wasn't sure really.

 The detective hadn't quite filled John in with the details of his current case. In fact, for weeks Sherlock had failed to give John more than rudimentary facts about anything, almost shutting John entirely out. Unless the brilliant young man wanted tea or his mobile or another cold-case file from Lestrade it seemed that lately, John didn't exist at all. It was very, very frustrating. Still John did the legwork required though to be honest, it hadn’t amounted to more than a couple of trips out of the flat and consisted mainly of keeping Sherlock in fresh cups of tea.

 Sherlock had shown up at the door a few months ago thinner than ever and very distant at first as if he were unaccustomed to speaking to someone regularly. His hair had been shaggier and the young detective looked like he hadn't slept the entire two years he had been gone. His eyes were hard for a long minute until he had first really looked at John after pushing his way through the front door like it was any ordinary day. John had seen those stone-hard eyes for only an instant and then they were the eyes John recalled so clearly, intelligent, focused and somehow almost relieved. Sherlock had hugged a very stunned John tightly and swayed weakly in the doctor’s arms. John was so very grateful that his wish had come true, and that Sherlock was alive. He’d missed him so much.

 Sherlock dramatically collapsed for several days, John nursing him anxiously back to health. Sherlock had scars now, and it made John almost ill to see how badly healed they all were. John kept Sherlock in his old room, Mycroft wordlessly providing everything John required without hesitation. While he recuperated Sherlock told John the bare bones of what he'd been up to. Destroying his nemesis' crime organization to save his few friends had taken nearly everything out of the normally exuberantly vital man. In between long stretches of deep sleep Sherlock wearily filled in details, talking the entire time he was conscious as if he couldn't bear to sleep until John knew everything. Sherlock's explanation was factual, detailing events and places. The only point he stressed time and time again was that he couldn't allow his friends to die and that he would willingly do it all over again to make sure that never happened.

 John had been overwhelmed more than once during the telling and most of the nights found him in bed, forcing back tears as he thought of the tribulations his dearest friend had suffered on his behalf. John had harboured anger for a long time when he’d thought Sherlock was dead but all of it disappeared as he listened to the tale spill from Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock had shared his experiences with John in a way he never had before. Though John had been confident in calling Sherlock his best friend, he didn’t actually know many details about Sherlock’s life. That was a blessing as far as both of them were concerned. Sherlock didn’t want John to be friends with him based on experiences John had no part of and John didn’t want to make Sherlock relive periods of his life where clearly his best friend had been terribly unhappy. The arrangement had worked for them until Sherlock had come back to life.

 With that almost emotional recitation the pair had a rough start after Sherlock got better. For a while John was stiff and awkward around Sherlock and Sherlock was penitent and almost too quiet. Then one morning they'd woken up and had gone back to being best friends like Sherlock hadn't faked his own death and disappeared for two years. Sherlock was as manic as ever, resuming his experiments, sneaking cigarettes on the fire escape and playing his violin at any hour of the day or night. John had been happy to make that extra cup of tea or run down to Tesco for another carton of milk. The old rhythm and pace of life in 221B Baker Street wasn't difficult for either man to settle in to. Finding mysterious body parts in the fridge no longer irritated John, he found it soothing. John was never happier than when he came home from work to find the flat in a state of advanced chaos filled with strange chemical smells and one much occupied Sherlock. That was in the beginning.

 The rift grew slowly. John thought it was just growing pains at first, the inevitable bumps and rough spots during the reclamation of their previous easy camaraderie. Enigmatic Sherlock was difficult to live with under the best of circumstances. Then John wondered if he was just being over-sensitive about all the times Sherlock came back from solving cases that John hadn't even known the detective was working on. That was troubling. They used to go on every case together, Sherlock heartlessly routing John away from work or even dates to accompany him.

 It was very troubling. John had gone to pay the bills last month only to find that everything but his portion of the rent had already been taken care of by Sherlock. John had actually stood there in shock and made the teller check again. After John paid his part of the rent from his wages he found his personal balance to be substantially larger than normal for the first time in ages. John was both pleased and disturbed by this.

 John couldn't help but go over how Sherlock had been before he disappeared for those two years. Sherlock never remembered to pay the bills. In all the time they had been together Sherlock hadn't paid anything even once. John had taken on the responsibility of ensuring that they weren't evicted or that their phone services weren't disconnected. Sherlock hadn't bothered before this but now somehow suddenly had arsed himself to come to the bank and take care of boring business.

 That day John had gone directly back to Baker Street after his discovery. He had found Sherlock lost in music, standing in front of the cold fireplace and playing his violin ardently with his eyes closed. The song was impassioned and the notes throbbed throughout the flat. John waited for a minute to be recognized but Sherlock gave no indication that he knew John was anywhere close at all and kept playing as if his instrument now controlled his flesh. “Sherlock.” called the doctor. The tall thin man finally slowed his playing and let his arms fall, bow and instrument firmly in hand, “You paid the bills!”

 Sherlock rolled his eyes and brought the violin smoothly back into position, “Obviously John.” Sherlock's eyes closed and he was instantly playing again, the melody sweet and full of longing now. John wondered what Sherlock was thinking about so deeply. Clearly whatever it was had the detective so enamored that he couldn't even take another minute to explain why he had veered so abruptly away from his regular state of not caring about the normal world to do something as pedestrian as pay the bills. John wished bitterly for a second that he could command even a fraction of Sherlock's attention this way but swallowed it back. Sherlock was married to his work; he'd said so very distinctly when they had first met. When it was clear that Sherlock had no intention of speaking again John had turned to the kitchen to try and make dinner.

John stopped next to the kitchen counter and grasped it in dismay. For a long sickening second John wondered if perhaps Sherlock had met someone. The last time John had heard such passion in Sherlock's music was when Irene Adler had theoretically died. Unable to even proceed with that line of thought John stuffed it as far into the back of his mind as he could and resolved to distract himself with cooking. In an effort to get Sherlock healthy again John had coaxed the stubborn detective into eating by making most of their meals by hand. As a result John had become substantially more skilled than he ever had been before. He enjoyed it too. It felt good to try and convince Sherlock to eat the meals he'd prepared by his own hand. The young scientist was more easily persuaded to consume the meal if John the doctor was also able to provide nutritional information pertaining to their food. This passed for dinner conversation in their strange world.

 John recalled when he'd pulled opened the door that evening. There had been nothing in the fridge. All the food that had filled the small appliance just that morning was entirely gone. Even the opened sauce bottles that had lined the door had vanished. The inside of the unit was sterile and completely bare. Displeasure and disappointment warred with curiosity and a small dash of tolerant fondness, “Sherlock? What happened to the food?”

 “Order take-away. You liked that place with the tandoori. Call there.” so, no explanation once again. John supposed he was too dull to understand whatever concept Sherlock was currently testing, at least he wasn't bright enough for the consulting detective to bother explaining or even warning him that the food was about to disappear even though John had just finished shopping. Possibly Sherlock had contaminated everything during the course of an experiment and had simply disposed of it all with no thought of replacing anything. John would probably never know and instead called in their order, ruthlessly selecting Sherlock's dinner without asking the younger man what he wanted. He was too thin and John was determined to fatten him up.

 That night had been strange. After dinner Sherlock had forced John to choose the movie for the night, refusing to participate. At least he didn't complain while it was on and didn't ruin the ending by shouting out the conclusion before the opening credits even finished rolling. All in all it had left John feeling a bit disoriented; as if the world had shifted slightly to the side without including him so he was just a bit off pace with everything around him.

 Now this night was shaping up to be stranger yet. This night was going to be like the long parade of evenings he had spent with Sherlock since the detective paid the bills. Something was occupying the young man. Something he wouldn't share with John at all. John hadn't been out with Sherlock on a case in over two weeks. The detective would receive a text and whirl out of the flat without a word, leaving a very upset army doctor clutching his tea alone.

 Sherlock was doing things. One day the detective had dealt with the laundry somehow. John had returned from the clinic one day to find his laundry neatly cleaned and folded on his bed. He'd planned to spend the evening dealing with the mess as he always did every Wednesday evening. He'd even learned how to navigate Sherlock's ridiculous sock index to put away his clean clothes. Now it was done and Sherlock hadn't mentioned a thing about it. John didn't know Sherlock was even aware of the existence of things like washers and dryers. When John had gone back downstairs to thank Sherlock he found that the young man was lost in his experiments to the degree that he didn't even hear a word John said. After trying for two or three minutes John had given up and returned to his room to put away his perfectly cleaned things. When he came back down Sherlock was gone and stayed gone until well after John had gone to bed.

 Other nights had different inexplicable occurrences. The flat was cleaned and put to order. Even the ratty piles of case files had been stored into a previously unused file cabinet. With any other flatmate relief would have been in order. From Sherlock, a man who would literally prefer it if everything around him rotted away as he observed the process of decomposition, it was frightening.

 Another day new shopping appeared in the cupboards. Everything was the correct brand and on the correct shelf. The only difference was an upscale pound of coffee which John got mad about because it cost so much and he was instantly in love with it. It also came from a store some distance from Baker Street and took a chunk out of John's day to obtain it. His old cheaper brand came from the Tesco down the street and was never purchased again. There was always fresh milk in the fridge except in instances where all the food once again magically disappeared and take-away was required. All experiments were sealed into proper containers and neatly labeled. Labeled! Yesterday the unspeakable mess in the bathroom had been scrubbed to surgical standard and it gleamed. Even the mysterious stain on the shower curtain vanished.

 Obviously Sherlock didn't need John. Clearly Sherlock was perfectly capable of looking after himself. For goodness sake, the consulting detective was paying bills on his own! Sherlock was cleaning up after himself! He was solving cases without John's help! Sherlock was fine without John! The brilliant younger man was even earning more than enough as a private consultant to take care of rent for years to come if he needed to. The last few deposits had been substantial as well as one after the other. Sherlock had been busy recently. John's portion of rent wasn't necessary though he paid it anyway out of pride.

 John was falling apart. He liked being needed. He liked looking after Sherlock. He was used to it now. Looking after Sherlock consumed most of his day every day. It was like having a mad scientist as a pet and an owner. John was like one of those people who maintained exotic and extremely high maintenance dogs, compulsively spending every minute caring for them. As the young man's only friend John had grown accustomed to the possessive neediness that had eventually made the doctor give up dating entirely. As far as John was concerned trading mediocre casual sex for wild nights of long chases and defying death on a regular basis was no hardship. It had become apparent that John's dates were a waste of time. The choice between investing days wheedling one attractive if only mildly interesting woman after another into bed one or more times or using his time to juggle Sherlock's incessant demands was an easy one.

 Sherlock always went off half-cocked, dashing away to crime scenes or for evidence or for whatever insane seeming reason it was and John looked after him. Tearing off after him down dark alleys and into sketchy buildings made adrenalin race through his whole body. Chasing after Sherlock made John feel alive, vital, needed. It's why John stayed. The soldier in John was perfectly willing to put up with nights of broken sleep, the sometimes oppressive silences, or the frankly disturbing experiments that took place in the kitchen where they ate. The doctor in John was perfectly happy with stitching the eccentric young man back up time and again after he'd harmed himself during an experiment or during a tussle with a suspect. John and Sherlock had a cadence to their lives with John admonishing him about nutrition and sleep and generally making sure that world had Sherlock Holmes in it while Sherlock fought everything tooth and nail.

 Lately though, it seemed that Sherlock Holmes had finally reached the point where he simply didn't need John Watson anymore. Now that the holidays were here along with the cold weather that growing feeling of uselessness had become an actual ache. John didn't like it. He felt jittery and out of place. His whole universe revolved around Sherlock and if he wasn't needed then John was entirely adrift and he felt it. Sherlock was even eating more! Not a lot but he made sure he had at least toast every morning and in the evening he would make a good go at finishing his dinner with only minimal fighting. Cooking was one of the last things left that Sherlock hadn't attempted and every night John did his best to make something appealing. It was only when the detective was on a case that Sherlock stopped eating and that was really when John noticed he was being left behind.

 Tonight John came home from work to find that Sherlock had received yet another text and was racing out of the flat without a word, pausing only long enough to stuff his feet into his most weather-proof pair of high end shoes and swirl his Belstaff theatrically onto his shoulders. He tied his scarf on and tossed the ends over his shoulder jauntily. John watched, quietly heartbroken as the silent young man exited the flat with another dramatic swirl of his coat and left his doctor alone and utterly miserable. John suddenly felt as bereft as he had the Christmas previous when he’d still been grieving Sherlock’s absence. Now it was worse because Sherlock was gone but John could still see him. It hurt.

 With nothing but time on his hands John went around the flat and finished preparations for the next day. They'd be having a Christmas lunch with Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, and Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson was doing the turkey and John was responsible for all the side dishes. He'd shopped just the day before so he could spend this evening cooking. John was looking forward to it. At least he knew everyone liked the food that he prepared. He and Mrs. Hudson had coordinated their efforts and had a whole menu worked out. When John opened the fridge to begin cooking for the next day he was devastated to find all his shopping gone and a large assortment of divinely packaged sides already prepared, waiting to be opened when needed. Then the final insult! Another new carton of milk was neatly tucked into the door closest to the handle. Now John wasn't even able to cook the lonely hours away. Sherlock had taken care of everything.

 Winter chill had crept into the flat. He had nothing to do so John lit the fire and sat moodily in front of it. It was far too early in the day but John poured a glass of whiskey for himself and sipped it cautiously as his thoughts raced and tumbled. John felt he needed to make some decisions about his life and his feelings. He knew he was unusually fond to his flatmate. The doctor scoffed at himself when he said the phrase out loud, “Unusually fond.” John wasn't unusually fond to the World's Only Consulting Detective. John was head-over-heels blindingly in love with the eccentric aristocratic man. John would never leave. Even the thought of looking for a new place to live made his insides twist uncomfortably.

 John took another guarded sip as soon has he made the admission to himself. He'd known it for a long time but forced it aside. John understood that Sherlock didn't operate like other people. The tempestuously brilliant younger man danced to his own tune for his own reasons and sentiment never had a chance. Sherlock was an all-consuming force in and of himself, absorbing multiple levels of information every second of the day. The young man spent every waking moment looking for a way to sate the demands of his powerful intellect.

 John knew there was nothing about himself that could possibly fulfill that appetite. He wasn't mysterious or complicated. He wasn't captivating or puzzling. He wasn't even particularly handsome and he was definitely too short. Sherlock was at least half a foot taller than he was. John shut his eyes and concentrated on the warmth from the fire. What was the point of thinking about how tall Sherlock was, even if it meant that John would find Sherlock's shoulder the perfect height to rest his head on, or that if he really thought about it without all the soldier machismo, that being sheltered in the arms of the taller man might be nice from time to time. The thought of how Sherlock would react to any attempt at physical closeness made John's heart freeze solid. It would horrify Sherlock if John made any attempt at such tender intimacy. John needed another sip of his whiskey. Maybe the chill in his heart would thaw a bit. Sherlock didn't need John or John's feelings but John needed to be needed, especially by Sherlock.

 John was getting depressed now. He clutched his glass tight as he thought dark thoughts about potential rivals. It was even likelier than ever that Sherlock was with someone else. Some bright new forensic specialist or some other sort of wunderkind who could properly appreciate the majestic leaps Sherlock's intellect afforded him. Maybe it really was time for John to move on. Maybe it really was time to leave the madness behind and lose himself in the banality of a regular life. Start dating again. Get a shitty flat somewhere else and get drunk once a week with his mates at the pub. Go watch the game. Be normal regular uninteresting short graying John Watson who had nothing to offer to engage the interest of tall posh eternally young geniuses who also looked like super-models.

 John fed his tumbling self-esteem one sad scenario after another until he was as low as he could get. John, drunk and useless. John, broken and pointless. John, unnecessary and unwanted. John the ordinary. Bland John. John the idiot who could barely follow along with half the things the creature he adored loved to talk about. Ignorant John who had needed to brush up on chemistry in order to understand one of Sherlock's more basic experiments. John had gaped at the poetry of scientific theory that poured from the dark haired man's kissable mouth the last time Sherlock had decided to try and walk John through his thought process. That's all John was good for now, staring hopelessly and making tea.

 An hour later John was still sitting glumly on the floor gripping his long empty glass when the door to the flat crashed open. Sherlock stood there grinning wildly down at John. “I did it John. I solved the case.” John's mouth was hanging open. Sherlock was drenched. The thin white shirt Sherlock had worn was almost invisible. His cold stiff nipples were clearly visible. Sherlock's dark curly hair was hanging in long ribbons over his face and there was ice in it! The Belstaff was stiff with damp and cold and Sherlock's shoes were ruined with wet. It was the sexiest thing John had ever seen.

 “Sherlock you are soaked! Get rid of that wet kit and get into something warm and dry!” Sherlock looked down at himself and noticed finally. He looked himself over then shrugged carelessly. He looked gorgeous. The happy brightness of his eyes and the delighted smile on his face were undimmed by the soggy hair that melted and then dripped over his face. If anything each racing droplet looked like escaping diamonds running across the detective's exotically beautiful features. John swallowed hard.

 “Oh. Yes. It all ended at an upscale car dealership. The automatic washing unit was activated. Here, take my coat.” Sherlock whipped off the coat which now weighed four times more than normal. It was sodden now and John put it on a hanger by the door to drip dry, tucking a large towel beneath it to catch the water. When he turned around Sherlock was sitting cross legged in front of the fire completely nude. His soaked clothes were in a soggy pile next to him. The detective seemed completely absorbed in the flames. “Fetch my robe, would you John? The fire is lovely.”

 John's whole brain seized up for a split-second. Sherlock was exquisite. The dark curls on his head only accentuated the fact that his body was marble perfection, perfectly toned and smooth. Water dripped down his jaw and onto the flat planes of his almost hairless chest. Sherlock's muscles rippled beneath his nearly flawless skin and his long lean body was graceful and the way his hips..... “Yeah. Hang on a tic.” John's feet took him to Sherlock's room and John's hands picked up the robe. John's brain was fizzling out and generally trying to melt its way down to John's cock which was unsuccessfully experimenting with ways to escape its fabric confines.

 John returned to the living room in a daze. His breath stuttered and halted completely when Sherlock unfolded himself to stand at his full height directly in front of the doctor. He was looking into John's eyes as he carefully took possession of the robe, draping it onto himself before loosely tying the waist shut. John's entire body was tense with a combination of shock and lust. He fixed his eyes on Sherlock's which was hardly an improvement over wandering that sinful expanse of creamy flesh since Sherlock's eyes were brilliantly colored and filled with a strange heat. When he was safely covered again Sherlock breathed out, “Thank you John.” John blinked twice and seemed to wake up.

 “No problem. So. The case.” Spell broken. John's voice snapped irritably over the last two words as he tried to pull himself together. Sherlock smiled gently. He seemed to lean ever so slightly towards John and John could not help himself as he leaned just a tiny bit closer himself. Sherlock's eyes seemed brighter than ever, filled with secrets and questions. John felt himself being pulled and hated his own weakness, hated the way his heart thumped almost painfully in his chest. Sherlock wasn't interested in John. He was just in his normal state of post-case excitement. He smelled so good.

“Yes John. I solved it. It took a bit longer than I would have liked but considering the constraints I was forced to endure I was grateful to even manage at all.” Sherlock reached down and without looking picked up the whiskey glass that John had left on the coffee table. Sherlock picked up the bottle as well and tipped in a healthy portion. Pressing the glass to his sinfully full bottom lip the younger man rolled the edge of the glass slightly to position it in the center of it. John's mouth went dry as Sherlock drank half of the whiskey and offered the rest to John who tipped it back instantly. Sherlock smiled again.

 “Constraints?” asked John dumbly. He was still a bit dazed at seeing Sherlock naked. He was only just processing the fact that he and Sherlock had also shared a drink from the same glass. The thing with the lip pressing made John's lungs give up for a second. John was also noticing that Sherlock was standing only a few inches away from him. Somehow the younger man had closed the gap between them without seeming to move at all.

 “Yes John. It was a challenge.” John frowned, a challenge? Someone had challenged Sherlock to work cases and Sherlock had not included John? Anger began to stir and John opened his mouth to say something. He was tired of being left behind and if Sherlock didn't need him anymore the least he could do as a friend was say so and let him have his dignity! Sherlock's head turned to the side a bit as he examined his flatmate sharply. John could feel himself being deduced and cringed. He knew that everything he'd just thought had played across his face like ticker tape and the sly bastard knew just how to read him. Sherlock shook his head and poked John in the chest with a long finger reproachfully, “John don't be silly. Of course I need you. I can't live without you, isn't it obvious?”

 Sherlock was smirking at John and that set John right off. This was all too much. “You can't live without me? You've been managing just fine for the last several weeks. You haven't needed me for a single thing this entire time. In fact you've managed to cut me out of nearly every part of your life. It's almost like we're not even friends anymore. You don't talk to me at all. What am I supposed to think except that you can get on without me?” John couldn't help sounding wounded. He was hurt by being excluded and Sherlock needed to understand for once! If nothing else they were supposed to be friends!

 “Yes well that was rather the point of the whole tedious exercise wasn't it? Sit John. Let me explain.” Sherlock pushed John back onto the sofa, poured another glass of whiskey and got John to sip a bit before reclaiming the glass for himself, “Mycroft. My brother had decided in his infinite wisdom to test me. I was to solve a certain set of cases for him as well as perform a number of banal obligations in order to prove something. If I succeeded he would sign over the last of my trust, ending the financial choke hold he's had on me since I was eighteen.”

 “You've been working for Mycroft?” said John weakly. He supposed he could understand being excluded then, if not well. Working with his brother entailed high level security clearances and access to things John probably wouldn't understand. He was just a simple soldier. It didn't explain the other stuff though.

 “Not exactly, Mycroft has made it clear that I demonstrate a certain amount of particular behavior before deciding that he can sign off on the paperwork. In truth he was supposed to sign after I had been clean for over a year but he's put it off. I don't care about the money but I do care about him constantly looking over our shoulders. So, I pressured him and this was the bargain we struck. I had to solve the cases and demonstrate my independence adequately.”

 John mentally translated what he'd just learned from Holmesian back into normal English. “You worked for Mycroft, did the chores and paid the bills.” John blinked as Sherlock nodded happily. His dark curls bobbed around and his strangely cat-like face melted into a proud shy smile. He cast his blue gold eyes towards John and for a second looked almost bashful. It seemed so mundane but for Sherlock to do those tasks was something of a miracle. Sherlock's face looked almost sweet as he continued to complain softly.

 “It was incredibly pointless. I had so many other things to do but Mycroft insisted. I wasn't allowed to let you help. I had to do it on my own or he said it didn't count. Insufferable prat! At any rate he signed this evening and I'm now properly free to do as I wish.” Sherlock leaned into John and sipped the whiskey slowly before pressing the glass back into John's hand.

 “I think I need more information than that Sherlock.” John's brain just was not working right. He'd never felt so slow, as if his thoughts were trapped in syrup and just wouldn't move. The alcohol was not helping. Neither was feeling Sherlock so close. The man burned with heat and John could feel sweat popping all over his skin in response. As much as he might have needed to he could not move himself away from Sherlock. It was like he was magnetically drawn to the other man's body and he simply didn't have the strength to pull away. He was too close to escape now.

 “Of course John, I had to prove to my brother that I was capable of living without a keeper. I had to prove that I could still do The Work on my own. I did that. Of course, paying the bills and getting groceries in is a waste of my time and solving cases without you takes forever or I would have been done ages ago.” Sherlock's fingers were teasing the glass back out of John's hands. His fingers grazed over John's and John felt his cock make an unfortunate leap towards hardness.

 “You solve cases faster with me?” said John who felt very unsettled and nervous at how intently Sherlock was looking at him. Every bit of John was being weighed and measured. It was never easy being under the microscope and this time was worse than ever. It was impossible for John to focus his thoughts and he had the feeling he was missing something blindingly obvious. Right now Sherlock looked surprised with John's comment.

 “Of course I do John, much, much faster! You help me think. I can do it without you but doing it with you. Is. So. Much. Better.” Okay. There was definitely some innuendo there. Not even the salivating doctor could miss that one. John's brain had begun to recover but was now fizzling out again. Sherlock seemed closer than ever. John's nose filled with the heady scent of the tall man, faintly spicy and musky with a hint of sharpness.

 “I didn't like being left out. I felt abandoned and unwanted.” blurted John without thinking at all and Sherlock looked wounded. John shivered when Sherlock's hand came up to rest on his shoulder, gripping him in a slightly more than friendly way. His fingers splayed out after they tightened and John felt those long digits almost caress his shoulder as Sherlock caught John's eyes with his.

 “I didn't want to John. Blame Mycroft. I proved that I can live without you but I don't want to. I like the way you look after me. I'm used to it. I missed it.” Sherlock set the glass aside without looking and stunned John when he pressed his long lithe body tight against the doctor. “I'm used to you being by my side at all times John. I'm used to knowing you're watching out for me, making sure I eat or that I sleep. I'm used to having you complain about missing milk or that I've eaten up all your biscuits again. I like knowing that every Wednesday night my sheets will be clean and soft and that every Thursday you'll make chicken for dinner or how on Sundays you like a lie-in with the newspaper and a late breakfast. I'm used to watching you clean your gun after target practice or on nights where you're stressed after a long day. I'm used to the tea you make and the way you make every cup exactly perfect every time. I'm used to you John.”

 Sherlock's body was solid if lean. He fit himself against John as if they were two parts of a whole. John managed to look up into the taller man's face. John's brain was giving him all sorts of instructions but he forced it to let him speak, “I've missed it Sherlock. I've missed running about with you or getting to the bank after work to settle things and of finding strange things in the fridge. I didn't like not being necessary. What happened to all the food?” he ended on a puzzled note.

 Sherlock laughed softly. “Deduce.” he said before he surprisingly blushed. John looked at the young man who was biting his lip in a very maiden-like way and not meeting John's eyes. The high points of color on his pale cheeks were very rosy now. The pulse at Sherlock's throat was fluttering madly. His long elegant finger twitched nervously. John thought about how their two bodies were currently so close you couldn't slip a piece of paper between them. John thought about the conditions Mycroft had insisted on and finally all of it fell together. He felt stupid.

 John's mouth spelled it out. “You were courting me. You took the food away so we'd order in. It was always from places I enjoyed.” Sherlock blushed again but nodded. Apparently that was so much easier than just asking John out to dinner. That would be obvious and Sherlock wasn't obvious. John froze into place as Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's mouth tenderly. Their mouths pressed together almost innocently and John felt his heart pounding madly. Sherlock picked up John's hand and without breaking the kiss laid it palm down on his own chest. The detective's heart was pounding as wildly as John's.

 John felt the world skew out of balance for a second before everything tilted back as realization continued to crash into his flailing mind. Once the why was in place all of it made sense, “The music. You were playing love songs. You paid the bills but you left my bit of the rent because you knew I wouldn't feel good about being taken care of like that. You know I'm particular about it. You did it all for me. This was how you won your independence. I was why you even tried. You were showing Mycroft that you could live alone but you were also showing me that you could look after us if you needed to.”

 Sherlock nodded, the lovely flush on his cheeks not fading. In his own odd way he had displayed his affections and tried to encourage John to reveal his. John had just experienced what passed for Sherlock's Holmes' mating dance. John stared at the odd young scientist wide-eyed and completely motionless. Sherlock looked insecure finally and began to pull back. “You beautiful clever thing.” said John and pulled Sherlock back for a kiss of his own.

 This was wasn't the chaste kiss that Sherlock had offered. This one was lusty and filled with hungry anticipation. When the kiss eventually ended Sherlock was the one who looked weakly dazed and needed to hold John to remain standing. John could tell this was the first time Sherlock had ever been properly kissed by anyone. The young man lifted a hand and stroked John's cheek tenderly, “I wanted to be with you John, more than just friends. I love our life together but I want so very much more. I'm hoping this kiss means you want more as well.”

 Sherlock looked so hopeful and uncertain at the same time. He was still nervous John thought. Sherlock was completely unsure of John's position. “I thought you didn't like sentiment.” said John. John could live without it if he had to. To be with Sherlock was all he wanted. With his new found freedom would Sherlock want to continue their friendship as they always had? Sherlock just leaned forward and shocked John all over again when the detective pressed his forehead again the doctor's.

 “Only with you, John, I love you.” John's entire universe stopped. The stars froze in the heavens and the earth stopped whirling on its axis. Sherlock's words seemed to expand and nudge aside all of reality until only the sound of Sherlock's voice was left. The tall pale man whispered it again, his baritone voice soft and filled with feeling, “I love you John.”

 It was all of John's unspoken wishes come true. His universe kicked back into motion, once again firmly tethered around the singular force that was Sherlock. John was so overwhelmed he was almost unable to respond and just stuttered, “Me?”

 “You John, I love you. I know I'm not an easy person to be with but after all this time you've never run, never given up, never given in. You've stood faithfully by me no matter what and I've learned to depend on you. I've learned that life is so much better with you than without you. You make life pleasurable, enjoyable and happy even and in all my life I've never had that. It's all because of you John. You make me happy.”

 “I...me?” John felt like his brain had gone vacation. He was hearing the sweetest confession, the most sought after expressions of devotion and he couldn't manifest a single rational thought. Sherlock looked pleased and charmed with the effect he was having on the soldier. The tall man kissed John again tenderly.

 “You John, so much so, I want to ask you something.” Sherlock's face flushed and he looked dreadfully nervous yet determined. Sherlock took John's smaller hands in his larger ones and looked very serious. “John, you know I have no patience. I know I have no experience in matters of the heart and that I'm probably rushing right passed all sorts of social conventions. I know what I know and I know what I want.”

 Sherlock got up suddenly and strode away briskly. John blinked for a second then drained the glass set on the coffee table, getting himself mildly under control as the whiskey burned through his nervousness. Sherlock came back and sank to his knee in front of the soldier. “What?” said John who just couldn't seem to pull a whole sentence together.

 Sherlock stayed on his knee and pulled John's left hand to his heart. “John. In all my life I have never known a connection with someone like the one I know with you. Right from the first moment we met it's been easy between us, comfortable in a way nothing has ever managed to be. Tonight I am free in a way I've never been before and there's only one person on the whole planet that I want to share that freedom with. I don't want to be by myself again. I don't want to give up tea and late Sundays or hideous jumpers and low budget movie nights. I don't want to share you or those moments with anyone else ever again. John Hamish Watson. Beautiful, marvelous, brave, glorious John. You are my whole heart and soul and I want to know if you would do me the endless honor of becoming my husband.”

 Sherlock produced a small blue box containing a heavy silver ring. It was simple, sturdy and plain but it had been hammered so that even though it was finely polished you could still see almost invisible ripples and layers inside. John was almost hyperventilating. His breaths came in startled little gasps, his eyes fixed on the dull gleam of the circle of metal. Sherlock had declared his love for John. Sherlock had just asked John to marry him. Sherlock Holmes was asking John Hamish Watson to be his husband. Sherlock wanted to be with John for the rest of his life.

 John’s mouth answered without needing input from his dysfunctional brain, “Oh god yes!” Sherlock looked startled and astounded. For the longest moment his face was a study in shock, his thick lashed eyes wide and his cupid bow mouth slightly ajar. Sherlock's long elegant fingers trembled as he extracted the ring and pushed it reverently onto John's steady hand. When it was on the detective sank forward and rest his head on John's lap. His long body shivered the way it hadn't when he was soaked to the bone with ice cold water and his long fingers clutched at the sofa to brace himself.

 His voice was soft and husky, a thread of relief unhidden if muted, “I wasn't sure. I knew I wanted you, knew you cared but I wasn't sure how much. I just know I don't want us to ever be apart John. I know this is fast but I can't help how selfish I am, especially with you. You know I never do anything half way. I want all of you all for myself. I love you.” the dark haired man sounded so vulnerable, so exposed. John was treated to a flash of understanding when he realized he and Sherlock had both suffered under the same misapprehensions, that each felt unworthy of the other, that they would be forced to leave even.

 Of course Sherlock wouldn't simply declare his feelings. The scientist in him had probably gone through and discarded every single relationship scenario available until he came upon the one that satisfied his personal needs the most. While blazingly brilliant Sherlock was also emotionally a gigantic man-child, unable to share what he deemed his. If he'd decided John was the man for him he was going to make sure everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes owned John Watson lock, stock and barrel. Sherlock was also completely convinced of his own lack of worth. His normally abrasive public behavior was deliberately designed to keep people away, saving them from being contaminated with the freakish insanity that was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. John had never been able to discover the reason for such deeply rooted lack of self-esteem.

 John pulled the younger man up by his arms and dragged him onto his lap. Capturing those lush full lips he kissed Sherlock until the taller man was gasping and sighing brokenly. “I love you Sherlock. I have for years. I never thought I'd ever get a chance to tell you. I've never wanted something as much as I want this. I want to marry you. I want to make you happy. I want to stand beside you and watch you for as long as you'll let me. I want you Sherlock and I want to be yours as much as I want you to be mine.”

 “You do?” asked Sherlock, sounding so much like a small child who feared having his presents snatched away. John's heart melted even further. He knew Sherlock had lacked so much in his privileged life, small things that John took for granted. Things like reassurance and praise, unconditional love and emotional support. John understood that asking him to wed was the biggest challenge Sherlock could ask of himself and he'd been entirely prepared for John to reject him.

 “I do. There's no one in the world more perfect for me than you Sherlock. You're brilliant and beautiful. You're mad and dangerous. I love how every day with you is a new adventure. I love how you think, how you shine, how amazing you are. You are unique Sherlock Holmes. I'm grateful to find that I have your heart because you certainly have mine.” Sherlock's lashes were heavy with tears and his face was filled with tender devotion. John was overwhelmed once more, feeling almost out of his head with happiness at this entirely unexpected turn of events.

 “You are the perfect one John Watson. You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen, with your handsome face and your beautiful hands and your eyes, those lovely, gorgeous eyes. You take my breath away. I'm not worthy of someone as pure as you.” Sherlock kissed John tenderly again, almost worshipfully. His face fell then and he looked worried. His deep voice was very soft “I know Mycroft told you I'm a virgin but that's not exactly true.”

 John was surprised. In all the time he'd known Sherlock the young man had never had a single romantic liaison with man or woman. Even the despised Irene Adler had gotten no further than a stolen kiss and rubbing her naked self on the detective. John thought of everything he knew about how Sherlock had grown up and how far he had fallen before picking himself back up again. The doctor had another flash of understanding and though it chilled him he gently tilted the younger man's upset face towards his. The soldier in him reared up. John wasn't afraid of Sherlock's demons. “Tell me everything.”

 “You know I was an addict. I spent a large amount of time living in extreme conditions. I used every resource at my disposal towards the acquisition of drugs when I needed them. Every resource.” Now Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and his face paled. He tried to pull away from John but John merely tightened his arms and kept Sherlock's slender form close. He knew what Sherlock was about to tell him and he'd cut his own arms off before he allowed the younger man to feel rejected, “I traded myself for drugs when it was necessary. It was unpleasant but I didn't have money. Mycroft cut me off from the family fortune in desperation. I sold everything of value I owned until he boxed what was left up and stored it away. Finally I was left with the choice of using my skills to steal money or prostitution so I decided to sell my body for whatever I could get.”

 Sherlock was rigid. John found himself breathing steadily. If you were Sherlock then this choice was very logical. The Work was pure. It was science and religion rolled together for Sherlock. His mind never stopped assessing, gathering, considering, deducing. The focus The Work brought him was like meditation, allowing the chaotic explosion of data Sherlock absorbed to flow in steady streams, neatly contained by the hallways and back-eddies created by the rooms in his mind palace. Sherlock's body on the other hand, well that was just transport, to be utilized when necessary. It was probably even considered a fair trade since his transport's addictions were making the demands that needed to be met. Sherlock had probably rationalized the entire time away neatly.

 John thought of the sweet wild man on his lap, thought of that brilliant and convoluted mind, of how desperate he must have been to stoop to such lengths to just turn it all off. John's heart hurt for the things Sherlock must have endured to pay for his addiction, the pain, the humiliation. He understood now why Sherlock feared intimacy, why he disassociated himself from his own body. It could hold no positive associations for him.

 John looked at Sherlock. The young man was terrified. He was panting shallowly and his body had not relaxed a jot. Warmth flooded John when he saw how scared Sherlock was of driving him away, as if learning this bit of Sherlock's past would snuff out the love that John felt for him. John cradled him in his arms with firm tenderness, “My poor angel. You'll never have to worry about that again. You have me now and I'll look after everything.”

 “You don't loath me? Want to leave?” Sherlock's deep voice was tremulous. His jeweled eyes locked onto John's and took in every flicker of expression. Sherlock would know if John tried to prevaricate or hide his feelings. John didn't hide anything. He lifted his face so his friend could see him clearly. He never wanted to hide anything from his Sherlock, not ever again.

 “No Sherlock! Never! I would never leave you. Not for anything. Even if you decided to take this ring back and never let me marry you I'd still stay. If you decided to end our friendship entirely I'd find some way of being close to you. I'd never leave you on purpose and you can't make me leave by choice. I love you and I always will.” John spoke honestly and from the heart. Sherlock was one-of-a-kind and John knew he would never find such a remarkable person ever again. No one could ever possibly measure up to the unbeatable standard created. Sherlock was worth any sort of effort, any sort of sacrifice, any sort of heartache. For even the chance to marry him, to be allowed to be with Sherlock John would endure any named torment without hesitation.

 “I've been extensively tested since then. Nothing. I was lucky. I tried to be careful but of course I wasn't always in the right frame of mind to ensure that. I didn't have a pimp at least. I didn't fall quite that far but it was a while before I pulled out of that lifestyle. I haven't been with anyone since then. I've never wanted to.” Sherlock looked ashamed of himself. “Mycroft said you'd leave me if you ever found out. He told me you'd never be able to deal with my problems with feelings and having this kind of past as well. I didn't really want you to know but I couldn't let myself marry you with a secret like that. I couldn't stop myself from asking though. I thought you'd say no. I'm a walking ruin. You're too good for me John.”

 “I'm a killer and a cripple. I can't do anything I trained to do and the only thing that makes me happy is limping after you on cases. I have nothing at all to offer someone as incredible as you Sherlock. I can't even believe you have feelings for me. You're too good for me! You're a genius, high born, talented and so out of my class. You're way out of my league.” Sherlock looked shocked and appalled.

 His long fingers gripped John's jumper tight as he exclaimed, “You were a brave soldier in war and you saved me on more than one occasion with your skills! You are not a killer. You're a hero John! You're a brilliant doctor. You're not a cripple! I won't hear you say otherwise. I'm an ex-prostitute addict who wasted every opportunity ever to come my way. I've spent my entire life doing nothing but distracting myself from real life. You've dedicated yourself to a higher purpose to help anyone who needs it! You did it all on your own. You're amazing John. You are the most amazing and beautiful person I've ever met. You're honorable and a true gentleman in all instances. There is no better man than you. I can only hope to deserve someone like you.”

 The twang in John's chest almost made him sniffle sentimentally, “For the record Mycroft is a fat-arsed shit-head with no more romantic sensibility that a dead frog. He never gets a say in how I feel about you Sherlock. He had no idea how very much I love you. I don't care what you think is terrible about yourself. You did what you did and we can't change that. You'll never have to do that again because I'll make sure we're okay. We've got The Work. We've got each other. We don't need anything more than that, do we?” John kissed Sherlock tenderly. The normally impassive and contained man was shaking gently, tears falling unchecked from reddened eyes.

 “No we don't.” Sherlock's normally smooth deep voice was thick and raspy. Sherlock kissed John gently. He smiled down and John and smoothed the hair back from the doctor's forehead. “Is this for forever John?”

 “Yes Sherlock. This is for forever.” That was an easy promise to make. John would gratefully spend all of his days being with Sherlock. He wanted nothing more than to bask in Sherlock's brilliance, to stare rapturously from the sidelines as that incomparable mind spun facts together to tell truths. To also be allowed to touch that beautiful body, to erase the touch of anyone before him, to claim Sherlock as his very own until the end of time. “I'll never give you up Sherlock. You're mine.”

 “Oh!” said Sherlock sounding pleased, shocked, surprised and so grateful all at once. John kissed him passionately, their tongues sliding against one another awkwardly, “Oh John.”

 “You've never kissed anyone else before tonight though, have you.” John looked up at the blushing young man. His dark curls bounced as he shook his head. The expression on his face made John's heart simply melt.

 “No John. I did everything but that. I couldn't.” Sherlock's kisses would never be anyone's but John's. John was so happy. He kissed Sherlock with even greater tenderness, knowing that Sherlock had willingly given John the last bit of innocence he'd retained during his darkest hours.

 “My kisses will only ever be for you then.” John promised and Sherlock flushed again. Sherlock was hesitant about laying claim on John, as if John didn't want exactly that. John was certainly planning on taking possession of Sherlock and the sooner the better. He kissed Sherlock invitingly, just a delicate press of lips and a touch of tongue, enough to tempt. “I want to take you to bed Sherlock. May I?”

 Sherlock's smile became naughty and he bit John's neck gently. “Whatever for?” he asked innocently and John growled. Their bodies pressed together, evidence of their mutual arousal pressing long and heavy against the other's flesh. John growled again when he felt the hard lines of Sherlock's body, could almost feel those random hands on HIS Sherlock's skin.

 “I want to kiss and lick every inch of you until you're mine from head to toe. Then I want to make you come so hard you nearly faint.” Sherlock almost swooned. John's arms tightened around the tall man as his body went limp and sagged back. John took the opportunity to nibble at Sherlock's long alabaster neck. The younger man groaned and shuddered, as responsive as John had hoped he would be.

 Sherlock's deep voice was hoarse and ragged, “Please. Yes please John, right now.” John wasted no time on further thought. He stood, bearing Sherlock's weight easily, his sore hip entirely forgotten. Sherlock wrapped his long hard legs tight around John's waist and clung. John carried Sherlock swiftly back to the detective's bedroom. They stood together, kissing and swaying back and forth until John's clever hands began to divest both of them of clothes. “You are so beautiful John. I want you. I've wanted you for so long.”

 John was the one with flushed cheeks now. He looked down at himself. There was nothing much to see. His body had seen better days. His belly, once flat and hard, had softened and curved outward with too many nights on the sofa with a beer. There were gray hairs amongst the hairs on John's chest and he felt odd about showing his vast collection of scars. Sherlock however was going over every detail of John's body rapaciously. John felt self-conscious as he let his own gaze take in Sherlock properly. The man was perfect. His legs were so long. His torso was hard and its elegant lines merged gracefully into a narrow but muscular chest. Sherlock's nipples were faintly pink, almost invisible against the cream of his sparsely furred chest. When John allowed his gaze to wander over previously forbidden territory he felt his self-esteem take another plunge. Sherlock's cock was as long and perfect as the man himself. He was certainly bigger than John.

 “Stop it John. I won't have it.” said Sherlock firmly. John looked up to see Sherlock looking intently into John's eyes. “You are beautiful John, to me you are beyond beautiful. Everything about you is compact and delicious. You've survived so much. You've beaten odds that have taken down lesser men and you are still strong. I see in front of me a warrior, a champion. I see a dangerous and endlessly fascinating man. I want to take you apart and see what makes you go. I want to taste the stories in your scars and commit every detail to memory. I want to consume you until there is nothing left and you are utterly mine.”

 Just like that the inferno of jealous lust returned. “Don't do a thing Sherlock. Not one thing. This is all about you.” John growled again. He had no interest in satisfying himself. He had one goal and he would not rest until it was achieved. Others had touched his Sherlock. Other hands had made him hurt, made him cringe, made him suffer and John had a primal need to obliterate those foreign touches until his angel was cleansed. John's mouth and hands roamed all over Sherlock's near perfect flesh. He worked his way steadily from the crown of Sherlock's head all the way down to his toes. His mouth kissed and his tongue stroked lovingly as he committed every texture to memory, took in every change of scent, every small blemish that that marked his man.

 Sherlock had submitted immediately, driven to moan endlessly as John's tongue delved into the most sensitive locations, never ceasing, never staying. The younger man had tensed when John pulled his cheeks open but didn't try to stop John who laved his tongue generously over the hidden flesh with as much devotion as he had anywhere else on Sherlock's body. Each gasp he earned from the young man was filled with shocked surprise. No one had ever taken the time to be tender with Sherlock that much was clear. John could have wept when he realized Sherlock's first time had been as good as rape even if the man had given his consent. That he trusted John to even touch him was a privilege John would never abuse but tonight he needed to claim him.

 Sherlock's long lean body had been reduced to a mass of quivers and moans. The younger man trembled from head to toe, his eyes wide and burning with unabashed desire. “Oh! Oh John!” he managed. John smiled down and began the next stage of his reclamation. Sherlock's erection had only grown during the loving assault. His long heavy cock was slightly curved toward his flat belly. Heavy drops of pre-cum had run from the tip hidden beneath his foreskin. Using his hand carefully John teased the foreskin back to swipe his tongue over the glistening head. Sherlock cried out in shock. “Oh fuck yes!”

 That was all the encouragement John needed. All doubts cast aside he devoured Sherlock's cock. Although he'd never been with a man before John knew what he enjoyed when someone went down on him so he employed all those moves as best he could. Sherlock lost his mind. He was writhing and almost yelping each time John's face plunged down. John swallowed and hummed and Sherlock's entire body bowed back as he cried out. “Jesus fuck John!” he shouted. When John rolled Sherlock's heavy testicles gently in his palm Sherlock gave a small gasp before releasing a long shuddering cry of pure pleasure.

 John pulled off with a long lick. “I want you to come down my throat Sherlock. I want you to hold my head tight and fuck for all you are worth and I want your come, every drop. Come for me love.” Sherlock's moan was almost animal. It was deep and throaty, almost a subdued roar. Two large hands covered the back of John's head and clutched. Sherlock's hips rolled and now John's face was getting fucked, hard. Sherlock was savage. Keeping a fist firmly around the base of Sherlock's cock John struggled to control his gag reflex and to keep his own orgasm from overwhelming him. His cock was thick and hard. The harder Sherlock fucked his throat the hotter John burned.

 “Oh. Oh John. Mother fucking Jesus fucking Christ JOHN!” Sherlock came. Thick jets of come pulsed along John's tongue and down his throat. The pulse and bitter salt of Sherlock's seed almost made John gag but he swallowed hard instead, refusing to be intimidated by this new experience. John's hands pushed Sherlock's hips down as the rest of the man thrashed and jerked everywhere. John had never seen anything more beautiful than the blank eyed rapture that erased every sentient thought from the gorgeous mess of a man beneath him. The aftershocks made Sherlock's body spasm and shudder until he lay there unable to move except for the muscular twitches that jumped from limb to limb. The tall thin man clung to consciousness by a thread.

 The soldier dragged himself up and collapsed on the pillow beside Sherlock, panting and heaving as if he had come though his erection was as hard and throbbing as ever. The soldier still felt satisfied though. John looked Sherlock over and felt the warm glow of ownership. Anyone who laid a finger on Sherlock from now on would need to go through a layer of John first. His voice was rough and almost harsh, “You're mine now Sherlock. No one can tell you differently. Even if we never manage to marry, even if we never saw one another again after this moment you'll always be mine. I'll never give you up and no one can make me.”

 “Oh. Oh John!” exclaimed Sherlock who's voice was barely audible. He sounded weak and precious. John pulled his panting form close and cuddled the younger man like he was made of the most fragile glass. “I'll be yours forever John. Only yours. I swear it. I've never wanted anyone but you.”

 John knew it. Sherlock may have traded his flesh but he had never given himself to anyone but John and he never would. The ache in John's cock subsided and he realized his erection had melted away untouched. John didn't care. He'd done what he wanted and brought his lover pleasure. John had claimed Sherlock and Sherlock had agreed to be his. That's all that mattered. John pulled the duvet up and pulled Sherlock as close to him as he could get. The young man was fading fast. Content with the world the doctor tucked the head of curls under his chin and allowed them both to rest.

 


	2. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have finally declared themselves and are currently enjoying their new freedoms and privileges.

Sherlock woke John in the most delicious way. The doctor rose to consciousness just as Sherlock's head disappeared between his thighs. He heard the younger man rumbling, “Your cock is fucking _perfect_ John.” right before the entire thing disappeared deep inside Sherlock's mouth. An appreciative groan from Sherlock followed the comment as John rapidly thickened.

Sherlock must have earned an awful lot of drugs on his knees because his technique was unbelievable. He swallowed John right down to the root and hummed softly before pulling back to work over the glans and frenulum. He swallowed John right back down again and slithered off once more, his long wiggling tongue making John's eyes roll back into his head. Suddenly the mouth on his cock vanished and reappeared on John's mouth. John greedily sucked on Sherlock's tongue, tasting himself there. “I did.” said Sherlock with a little smirk.

“Did what?” asked John breathlessly. It was hard to think when Sherlock's mouth on his. It didn't seem to matter when he put those sinful lips or that talented tongue. Sherlock was blatantly abusing that very reaction as he trailed his heavenly mouth over John's aching flesh. He teased John before sucking him down for a second then releasing him again while John whimpered.

“Earn a lot on my knees. It was my most popular request and no I can't read your mind. I could see the question practically written on your face.” John wasn't sure what to make of the tiny conflict that went on in his brain. It was like an explosion of red and black as gratitude and fury battled it out because Sherlock's mouth should be given some kind of award for skills but death needed to be handed out to the owner of every cock that had given him the chance to acquire it.

Sherlock licked his way back up John's body until he was rutting against John's erection. “I need you John. I want you in me. Take me John. Make me yours again.” Every word shot right to John's brain and made it fizzle once again. Before he could think clearly again he was bowed over Sherlock's eager body, his fingers already roaming between those lush cheeks to caress the bud hidden there. Sherlock scrambled for a second and produced a bottle of lube from somewhere close by. John panted as he dribbled some onto his fingers. Probing carefully he allowed his first finger to swirl over Sherlock's opening before penetrating. “More. John. More.”

Sherlock's body accepted him readily. Two fingers pushed in easily but he took his time, drawing the process out as long as possible. John fucked them in and out, torturing Sherlock with pleasure. John wasn't sure which one of them wanted this more. When Sherlock was bucking and crying out John added a third finger. Sherlock was tight now and resistant but John just kissed him hotly until the resistances evaporated and all three fingers were gliding smoothly in and out. “I'm going to take you now Sherlock. Don't hold back. I want to hear and feel everything.”

The younger man nodded frantically. His face was flushed deep red and his neck was strained with the effort of simply not coming already. John nudged Sherlock's long legs wide and positioned himself. Pushing firmly John worked the fat head of his cock past the first tight ring of muscles while Sherlock clenched tight. He flushed and obviously tried to stay relaxed and failed. “I'm scared John.” Sherlock whispered and he did sound frightened. It wasn't the act itself that twisted the detective up but the intimacy of being with a real lover. John stopped moving immediately and kissed his madman.

“It's alright love. We can stop. We don't have to do this if you're not ready. I love you my darling, I love you completely no matter what.” Sherlock relaxed as he listened to John's reassurances. He pulled the doctor close for a long kiss while John held his hips in abeyance. Sherlock locked his fingers over John's ass and yanked him forward, causing John's cock to thrust deep and hard. “Oh god!” cried John. Sherlock was so tight and hot. The doctor had not expected to be pulled in like that and almost came on the spot.

“John! Move! John! For fuck's sake move!” Sherlock was writhing beneath the soldier hungrily. John pulled his hips back and thrust hard and Sherlock shuddered. His body was welcoming. It was like John was being pulled in and he was as unable to resist Sherlock now as he had ever been. Their bellies pressed together, Sherlock's cock hard and beginning to weep. “Yes! Just like that! Hard John! Do it! Hard!”

John began to fuck Sherlock. He loved how demanding the young man was. That was the Sherlock John knew. John's hips snapped back and forth roughly. Each plunging thrust made Sherlock gasp with pleasure. His long fingers scrabbled at John's back leaving long pink lines everywhere. Sherlock almost yelped when John's cock grazed across his prostate. With a wicked grin John made sure that every other thrust brushed across the sensitive gland until Sherlock was an absolute wreck beneath him.

John lay full on Sherlock, his hips driving deep into the younger man's body. “I'm going to come in you Sherlock. All day you'll have my come in your body. All day you'll know that you are owned by me and nobody else. In case anyone gets any ideas they'll have this too.” John's mouth latched onto Sherlock's neck and he bit down before sucking. Sherlock groaned deeply, the vibration of it resonating in John's chest then his whole long body began to twist and flail as he came.

It set John right off. John was sure his own eyes crossed before rolling right back into his head. His groan was ragged and long as he tried to ejaculate his entire being into Sherlock. The intensity of it was enough to render John's arms entirely useless. Sherlock shook and moaned for several long moments before his body stilled into occasional twitches to go with his labored panting. Weakly John managed to pull himself from Sherlock's tight body. He collapsed next to his lover and exhaled with contentment.

“John! _Oh my god_. That was fucking amazing. You deserve your army reputation. _Oh god_.” Sherlock was panting and quivering. John smiled again. Sherlock curled up to his side and laid his head on John's chest. He was practically purring with satisfaction, his deep voice lazy and sated. “It's never been like this for me. Not once.” The soldier felt rage blaze into being almost instantly, stilling himself before he betrayed his anger to his still glowing lover. Poor Sherlock. Being raped over and over again in a drug haze wasn't likely to feel good for the younger man no matter how excellent the product. John calmed away his own simmering fury at what Sherlock had suffered and caressed his lover tenderly.

“I believe you love. No one would have been interested in making it good for you. I promise you though, it will only get better between us.” John kissed the back of Sherlock's head several times until his head rolled back allowing John to kiss his plush lips instead. “I love you Sherlock. I want to make sure all our loving times are good for you. You deserve it.”

Sherlock ran his fingers over his neck, pausing at the swell of bruise flesh below his jaw. “You marked me.” said Sherlock softly and John blushed faintly. The love bite at Sherlock's neck was currently brilliant red and rather sizable. It showed up brazenly against the snowy white of the detective's skin. Sherlock ran his sensitive fingers over it and closed his eyes almost dreamily. He suddenly stretched, his whole body rippling as his back arched and his arms reached up over his head. Sherlock hummed with satisfaction as pulled himself back into a little bundle to be tucked under John's arm, face planted right over John's heart. Long pale fingers trailed through the hair on John's body delicately and Sherlock turned and kissed John's chest. He might be cold and aloof to the rest of the world but it seemed Sherlock in bed was intensely sensual.

“I'm very territorial. I've never been able to stop being that way. I don't like people touching what's mine and I don't want anyone to ever lay a hand on you.” John tried to be apologetic but he really wasn't. Sherlock was finally his and no one was going to get the slightest chance to even throw a hint his way if John had anything to do with it. If anything the tone in his voice made Sherlock even more pliant, as if every bone in his body had become elastic. The taller man pressed himself tight to his lover, his long limbs arranging themselves so their two bodies were locked snugly together.

“Don't try to apologize John. I like the mark very much. I don't mind even a bit. After all I put a ring on your finger. I own you. A mark on my neck is so much more organic but it's essentially the same thing. My beautiful soldier.” Well. Now both John and Sherlock were happier than ever. They stayed snuggled together until the need for the bathroom drove them both from the bed. Sherlock climbed right into the shower afterward and John joined him. They both smiled and washed each other playfully; taking turns shaving under the spray until they were clean and tidy. John was continually amazed at the affection Sherlock was willing to demonstrate. Sherlock seemed just as delighted to be able to be affectionate without fear of rejection.

John made tea to go with breakfast and Sherlock tucked himself tight against the doctor as he cooked. “I know you wanted to cook for lunch today but Mycroft insisted I help with the meal so I ordered everything I could think of. You know I can't cook and it won't be nearly as good as your food. I hope you're not still upset.” John felt better hearing that Sherlock still definitely preferred food cooked by John to almost anything except Mrs. Hudson's cooking. His heart warmed further because of the rare apology that Sherlock had offered and all the distress of the past few weeks began to ease.

“Well I wasn't very pleased last night I can tell you. I thought you were half ready to ask me to move out!” John's insecurities rose for a moment but Sherlock simply stroked over the ring that was still safely on John's finger. So much had changed in just a few hours. Sherlock's arms tightened around John as he hugged the doctor close to his warm body. John felt coveted and loved.

“I know my darling. I apologize. Feel free to torment Mycroft when he gets here later. Look I bought a cake specifically for that purpose.” John laughed. Tucked into the fridge amongst all the neat packages was a decadent looking chocolate cake covered in chocolate curls and cream dollops. Sherlock nuzzled his face against John's, “Just remember John, you'll always be more important to me than absolutely anything.”

John leaned back onto his lover and they enjoyed a peaceful moment together before breakfast was ready. They were so much the same and so very different now. They knew one another the way no one else did and yet last night both of them had willingly embraced a whole different level of intimacy and commitment. After, Sherlock sat himself happily down and ate nearly half of his eggs along with his toast. John was pleased. They tidied up their home a bit, set out some extra folding chairs and dug out the presents they were giving their friends. A couple of hours later Mrs. Hudson hooted from her apartment and Sherlock went down to help her bring up the beautifully done turkey.

“Oh boys. It looks so lovely in here.” Mrs. Hudson enthused. Sherlock smiled at her, tolerating her affection as always. Just as he set down the turkey there was a knock at the door and all the rest of their guests arrived. Molly was blushing and stuttering like always. Mycroft was hard on the heels of Lestrade who was flushed but soon everyone had their coats off and a glass of wine in hand. Everyone's eyes cut to the bruise on Sherlock's neck but since he spent so much time experimenting on himself in a large variety of bizarre ways no one took the final step to just ask him about it. Fully half the scars on Sherlock's body were self-inflicted in the name of science.

Mycroft looked around briefly. The entire room was dust free and neatly ordered. They'd managed to subdue but not entirely eradicate the chemical smells left behind by Sherlock's endless experiments. Decorations were firmly in place. Fairy lights twinkled. The bison had a festive scarf around its neck and the skull on the mantle sported a jaunty Santa hat. “The flat seems slightly less rancid than usual.” Mycroft held himself stiffly and Sherlock sneered in his direction but said nothing.

“Sherlock's done a lovely job cleaning everywhere. It's been a great break.” said John mildly. He wasn't going to let Mycroft bait him. John had long since perfected a way to completely aggravate Sherlock's brother. Instead of standing there mutely offended by the subtle insults John puttered around the kitchen opening containers and setting everything for lunch out. For some reason the lack of reaction was something neither Sherlock nor Mycroft could tolerate. It made them twitchy. John could hear Mycroft sniff disapprovingly and knew that Sherlock's brother was looking for an opening on his latest attack on Sherlock's self-esteem.

“You must be pleased. Sherlock has finally managed to grow up a little and take care of his share of the responsibilities.” said Mycroft, every syllable clear and pronounced. John just shrugged. Mycroft was almost predictable now. He would launch volley after hidden volley until something struck.

“It's actually kind of thrown me off schedule. We had it all smoothly worked out before this. I enjoy my little routines and Sherlock helping me out has been odd. I like it the way we normally live our lives.” Mycroft looked surprised and Sherlock hid a small smile. John's ability to simply shrug off everything irritating about the Holmes brothers was one of his greatest skills as far as everyone else was concerned. His patient tolerance of their wet cat behavior had been remarked on for years.

“Thank goodness he's at least taking responsibility for some of the less day to day trivialities.” Added Mycroft pointedly and John sighed softly as everyone else stared at the pair of them. Sherlock hid his face in a glass of wine and wouldn't look at his brother.

“I actually hate that. I like paying the bills. It gives me a sense of completion and Sherlock has a terrible memory for boring stuff like that. It's just easier if I do it. Why make him take care of it if I don't mind.” John wasn't lying. He had a little mental list of his regular monthly obligations like paying for the gas or the phones and when he didn't check the items off his list he felt out of sorts and off balance. The last few weeks had cut deeply into his routine and he was anxious to get back to the comfortable rhythm that normally drove life in 221B. Routines were John's responsibility. He took care of the meals, chores and obligations. Deductions and science and providing opportunities to take risks were Sherlock's. That's how it worked. Sherlock wasn't the only one who had obsessive habits.

“Surely you don't want to spend your days in servitude to a childish and entirely spoiled person like my younger brother?” Mycroft sounded disgusted and amazed. John's jaw tensed and he briefly considered having it out with Mycroft right then in front of everyone.

“Now Mycroft! It's Christmas. I won't have you fighting with your brother. Be nice now.” scolded Mrs. Hudson. John counted to ten mentally and exhaled slowly as Mycroft sat himself down finally. He knew Mycroft was just being himself and John had never had a smooth relationship with Sherlock's older brother. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot from the second they'd met and nothing had ever happened to make John like him anymore. Still he was a guest so John thoughtfully seated Mycroft next to Greg because Greg was a friend even if Mycroft was not. John laid out the table as formally as one could on a surface stained with years’ worth of spilled acid and various liquids that Sherlock had sworn not to mention during the meal before he called everyone to help themselves.

The meal itself was delicious and full of laughter. John reluctantly admitted that the store bought side dishes were very good but Sherlock only ate a bare spoonful of each. He pushed his food around before just dropping his fork to the side. John smiled to himself when he understood that Sherlock would be expecting John to cook for him later, a proper meal. Molly was full of giggles because of a doctor who was courting her so Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson teased her about love and blushes. Mycroft sat stiff and uncomfortable, only responding to Greg's genial questions. Sherlock looked them both over with a sharp eye.

“Lestrade. Has Mycroft taken you out on a date yet?” There was silence at the table and Greg flushed bright red and glared at Sherlock. Mycroft eyed his younger brother grimly and John kicked Sherlock under the table in reproach. No matter what Sherlock and his brother had against one another there was no need to drag poor Greg into the fight.

Then Greg stunned John, “As a matter of fact he has Sherlock but I'm wondering when that became your concern.” snapped the detective inspector who was obviously not pleased to be outed like that. John's mind raced over the various times Mycroft had suddenly appeared at crime scenes, always with a scathing word for his little brother and an impatient moment aside with Detective Inspector Lestrade. John smirked at the pair of them. The Holmes boys never did anything straight forward. The DI in question was glaring hard at the younger man and daring him to make a big deal out of it.

“Oh I don't care what you two do or don't do together, I was just wondering if you both would come on a double date with John and I over the holidays. I've read that it's the thing to do and thought I'd try it.” Everyone's eye gravitated back to the now telling bruise on Sherlock's throat. John laughed softly at Sherlock's unplanned reveal of their very new relationship. He didn't mind a bit.

“Would John be amenable to a date with you Sherlock? Have you even asked or have you deleted all the pertinent information on social interaction?” said Mycroft pointedly even though the evidence clearly indicated that the two men were interacting very socially with one another. John popped a bite of food in his mouth and simply reached his left hand out to take Sherlock's firmly. Everyone at the table stared at their linked hands and the ring now blatantly in view. Sherlock rubbed it in by tenderly lifting John's hand and pressing a reverent kiss on it.

“If Sherlock feels like going out one night I have no objection. I'd rather enjoy showing my fiancé off.” said John casually. He popped another bite of food in and enjoyed the stunned silence. Sherlock grinned at everyone. Both men were very pleased with the reactions. Mycroft had an instant of frozen surprise before his inscrutable mask once more concealed his inner thoughts. Mrs. Hudson shrilled her approval, her narrow hands clasped tight against her chest. Molly and Greg both looked equally amazed. Mycroft's expression didn't change again.

“Oh my god! When did this happen? I didn't even know you two were actually together! I mean everyone said but....” Lestrade sounded shocked as he trailed off, still staring at John's engagement ring. John and Sherlock shared another cheeky grin with one another.

“Sherlock asked last night. As for the rest that's rather our business don't you think?” John wasn't interested in sharing his personal life with Sherlock with anyone, especially anyone who could be expected to be close to Mycroft who deserved a punch in the face as far as John was concerned. That he and Sherlock went from being mostly friends to being entirely engaged in a matter of minutes wasn't anyone's concern at all. John and Sherlock been all but dating for years now, completely and unshakably devoted to one another.

Mrs. Hudson got up and squeezed John and Sherlock tight, “Oh my boys! I'm so happy. I just knew it. I knew Sherlock would win John one way or another eventually. It's been ever so long.” Sherlock flushed now, proud and bashful at the same time. John smiled warmly at their landlady, accepting her congratulations at face value. He was rather chuffed at being pursued rather than being the pursuer as was normally his preferred method of obtaining a lover. Sherlock had won John's heart his own unique way and their love story was unlike anyone else's. Molly shook their hands a little awkwardly and Greg slapped them both affectionately on the back. Mycroft sneered and sat quietly.

Lunch finished with a toast to the new couple. John sliced up the decadent cake and made sure Mycroft's was the largest piece, “Every crumb!” He declared when Mrs. Hudson protested that she couldn't possibly eat it all. John then chivvied everyone until all had been consumed. Mycroft looked ill and a bit desperate afterward. John smirked and Sherlock openly laughed.

The gifts were distributed. Mrs. Hudson was given a new blender from John and Sherlock who knew her old one was barely functional. She cooed at the thoughtfulness. Molly got a new monogrammed silk scarf and matching gloves from a designer she admired. She blushed and thanked them effusively. Lestrade received a book of football statistics about his favorite teams and Mycroft got a cookbook, though it was autographed from his favorite chef.

In return Mrs. Hudson gave John a brand new emergency kit for the bathroom and Sherlock got a toy gun that ejected little plungers that stuck to everything as well as a decadent rum cake that he especially liked. Mycroft got a plunger between the eyes the very first minute. Molly gave Sherlock a new set of slides filled with exotic diseases which he almost got misty about and John got a brand new stethoscope. Lestrade gave them a pair of framed mug-shots from the last time they got arrested. John put them right up on the mantle next to their skull. Mycroft grudgingly handed over two tickets to the opera for New Year’s night and Sherlock thanked him sincerely. Both brothers had an enduring love of fine music and it was the one ironically harmonious part of their relationship.

Everything wound up late in the afternoon and soon all their guests were gone with the exception of Mycroft. He looked down at John very sternly and John was struck at the similarities between Sherlock and Mycroft. Both were tall and slim, both had intelligent piercing good looks, and both of them were masters at packing a lot of meaning in just a few words. “John we must speak. I fear you have been led dreadfully astray.”

Sherlock glowered fearsomely at his older brother but John just sat himself down on the sofa and pulled his lover close. He wasn't surprised. After all Mycroft had kidnapped and threatened John just for sharing a flat with Sherlock. What was he going to say now that John planned to marry his younger brother, “How so Mycroft. Just spit it out too, I don't need to hear your long drawn out convolutions.”

Sherlock giggled a bit but Mycroft stared down at his brother until there was silence. “There is no way you can possibly marry my brother. You have no idea what kind of problems he's had, what kinds of life he's led. It's not pretty or decent.”

John shot Mycroft a hard look but it didn't deter the older man from exposing his only brother's darkness. He was expecting that too and listened carefully to Mycroft's concerned sounding voice, “He's a drug addict. Did you know? He's also autistic. He's been diagnosed with a rare form of Asperger's Syndrome, hence the fixation with crime and everything to do with crime. Not only is Sherlock a barely reformed drug addict but he's possibly a still operating prostitute! Is that what you want to marry? Damaged goods?”

John stood right up and punched Mycroft so hard he fell out of John's chair where he'd been sitting and lay full out on the floor in a bloody daze. “Don't you ever call Sherlock damaged goods! I know everything there is to know about him that needs knowing. Everything else will be mine to know as time passes. Don't ever think to try and step between us Mycroft or I will kick your ass up and down this country and no one from MI6 is going to be able to rescue you in time. I don't give a fuck what you think Sherlock is doing or what you believe. He's mine now and you have no right to judge or hurt him anymore. I'm tired of your constant put downs and threats. If I hear one more negative word from you about him I am going to declare one man war against you and believe me, when you've pissed off a Watson you are in for a world of hurt.”

Mycroft picked himself up off the floor dabbing his nose with a snow white handkerchief. He stood tall and looked down at the small but fuming doctor. “Well done Captain Watson.” John rolled his eyes and sank back into the couch next to Sherlock who pressed his long lean body tight to the soldier's.

After John sat back down then Mycroft did as well. Sherlock looked over to his brother, looking very sour before he complained softly, “You didn't have to tell him I had Asperger's Syndrome Mycroft. That was an unnecessary embellishment.”

“Well you act mentally challenged sometimes so I felt it fitting.” snipped Mycroft and John laughed. Both brothers glared at one another, each highly indignant. John rolled his eyes again. After all these years he shouldn't be surprised with how they thought and acted out.

“You both are assholes. Did I really need to have my loyalties tested?” John picked up Sherlock's hand and accepted a tender kiss on the cheek as well as the bruised knuckles on his right hand. Mycroft's nose had not stopped bleeding.

“Yes. Definitely. You are about to marry into our family and it's not an easy place to exist. More than one person will attempt to ruin your relationship using this type of information. Sherlock did have a dark past and most of our family is very aware of it. I have protected my brother as best I have been able to but soon I won't be able protect him any longer. You will have to so I needed to be sure.” Mycroft's apology didn't sound very apologetic but then John had almost broken his nose. John wondered what was happening to change Mycroft's views on looking out for his brother the way he always had.

“You also didn't need to tell him I was still selling myself. That was entirely uncalled for.” Sherlock continued to sulk but John just laughed. The younger man now had his arms crossed as he sat on the sofa looking entirely offended. His older brother ignored him and dabbed his nose gently with another clean handkerchief he'd produced.

“I knew as soon as he said it he was trying to rile me up.” confessed John and now Sherlock laughed. Sherlock leaned his slender frame once more into John's sturdy one and the doctor smiled up into the fatuous eyes of his lover.

“Then why did you strike me!” demanded Mycroft angrily. His nose was red and swollen looking. John  didn't care. John's head whipped around to fix on the normally dignified gentleman who was still dabbing trickles of blood from the wounded area.

“I hit you because you are a gigantic git who was insulting a soldier's fiancé to his face. If I'd been anyone else you would have bounced your way down the stairs and into the street before I was done. Feel grateful I only punched you the one time and I made sure I didn't break your nose.” John glared at Mycroft. “I wasn't kidding about the put downs though Mycroft. You enjoy cutting Sherlock to pieces and I'm seriously not putting up with it anymore. He's fucking brilliant so why don't you begin treating him like a grown up instead of a failed social experiment?”

“Very well John. Enjoy Christmas. Sherlock, Mummy will be most pleased to see you both for dinner tomorrow. Goodnight gentlemen.” and with those words Mycroft gathered up his present as well as his umbrella and made a dignified exit. John stared at Sherlock who looked back at him with horror.

“No. Not Mummy!” the tall man groaned. He sank back into the sofa and covered his face as if he were in agony. “John. I've been avoiding this in the most cowardly way. You may as well pack up now and leave. I bet Greg would take you in until you can find a flat and begin a new better life without me. I love you too much to keep you.”

John just laughed at his lover's melodramatic posturing. It sounded bittersweet and it showed John that Sherlock didn't know everything the way he thought he did. “I've already met your mum, don't you know? The funeral. Your funeral. She blamed me for your suicide and pronounced me the most execrable person on the planet deserving neither forgiveness nor grace. She accused me of failing you in your weakest hour and said she'd pray that I spend the rest of my living days in misery. She still hasn't taken those words back, even though you're clearly alive.”

Sherlock looked stunned. “She said what? I didn't know John. Mycroft didn't say.” The detective took up John's hands and squeezed them anxiously. He was looking into John's face and the younger man seemed upset. He was probably worried all over again that this was a deal-breaker as far as John was concerned. Sherlock seemed to be waiting for the axe fall on their very new relationship.

John couldn't help sounding even more bitter when he explained, “Oh yeah. It was in front of god and everyone that you and I know plus a lot of people I didn't know. She screamed so loud that people on the street could hear what she was saying. She told me she wished I'd died instead of her baby and hoped that every day that passed would be a torment. It was.”

“Oh. John.” Sherlock was devastated. His hand shook and he reached out for John several times but pulled his hands back as if he felt he didn't have the right to touch the other man. “John. I'm so sorry. I know I've said those words before and I know they can't possibly help but I am. I'm so sorry.”

“Sherlock when you died I died too. I agreed with your mother. I should have died instead of you. I couldn't forgive myself for not being there for you. I did feel that I'd failed you. I'd somehow missed all the signs leading up to your jump and I tortured myself with it. Every day after you killed yourself was a private hell for me. It didn't stop until you came home and then nothing else mattered. I let it all go when I learned it wasn't real. You're here. You're alive. We love each other. Nothing else is important.”

“You're so brave John, so very strong. You loved me even then.” said Sherlock softly and John nodded. Sherlock fixed him with another adoration filled gaze and now he held John's hand tightly.

“Since the beginning Sherlock, since the day we met and you fixed my leg. I knew you were special and right from that first moment I've only fallen more in love with you. I can't stop and I don't even want to.” Sherlock blushed lightly then and John thought it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen.

“When you handed me your mobile our fingers touched, just for an instant. My heart began to race and I was breathless for the longest time. I was determined to have you move in with me. I gave you no chance to say no. I knew I needed you John and I do.” John pulled Sherlock tight to him and they kissed tenderly.

“I'll face Mummy again and maybe this time she won't be screaming at me because of you.” John promised. Sherlock nodded and hugged his doctor tight. “Don't be afraid, Sherlock. I'm with you now. No one can part us no matter what they say. Even if it's something I didn't want to hear or something that embarrasses you right down to your bones. If you and Mycroft are anything to judge by then supper tomorrow should be about as relaxing as rolling in a bowl of scorpions. I'll be fine as long as I know you'll stay with me no matter what. We'll face all of it the way we will face everything else. Together.”

“Thank you John. I will promise to not leave your side unless I absolutely have to. My family is entirely dreadful and all of them have at least one hideous story about me that I'm sure they'd be willing to torment me with. Never fear John. It will be like shock therapy. If I don't crack under the strain of it all our wedding should go through no problem. If not...well the room they locked me into for rehab is still there.” All humor drained out of John.

“They locked you away in a room?” Sherlock looked pale but didn't let his eyes move from John's. John didn't miss the subtle move Sherlock's fingers made to sooth wrists that were currently unmarked or the whole body shiver that made the younger man's skin pebble with fear.

“I was out of control. I couldn't be kept in regular rehabilitation centers. I kept escaping. Eventually they brought me home, locked me away and brought in private specialists to help me kick the habit. It was worse in the beginning. I had to be physically restrained and eventually they sedated me on a regular basis until I was clean.” Sherlock spoke very softly and carefully, almost by rote as if he had practiced this explanation many times. There was clearly more but the brilliant younger man was unable to speak of it. John was patient and he could wait for his lover to be ready. John took Sherlock's hand in his.

“No one will ever lock you away again Sherlock. If anyone tries I will find you, release you and fucking kill them for preventing you from being free. I don't ever want you to feel limited Sherlock. I want you to be as free as you possibly can. You have no limits with me Sherlock. Go as far and as fast as you like. I'll be with you.” Sherlock was shocked and moved.

“John. I can't express how that makes me feel. There's so much of my life I've kept hidden away. I promise to share it all with you but there is rather a lot! I won't keep secrets from you. To know I've earned your loyalty somehow, to know that you want to protect me from things I haven't been able to protect myself from. I feel safe for the first time in my life. I feel protected and I think I'm actually going to cry.” Sherlock's eyes had grown red and misty.

“Never doubt that I cherish you Sherlock. You know you've been the most important thing in my life for a long time even if we haven't said so before now. You'll always be the most important person in the world and I don't care who's offering it, if someone offends you then they offend me and I used to kill people for a living. As a doctor I can ensure anything I do is as permanent or impermanent as I choose.” John winked at Sherlock who giggled and teared up a bit before smiling happily at his lover. “You do drive me spare sometimes darling but I love you Sherlock. Come on my lovely man, let's cuddle and watch one of our movies.”

“Baron Münchhausen.” said Sherlock flatly and John laughed tolerantly before finding the requested dvd and popping it in. There were lots of left-overs from lunch so John made up a tray of bite sized snacks out of everything and brought the entire thing back to the living room along with a fresh bottle of wine. Sherlock kissed the doctor tenderly before pouring each of them a glass and popping a small bite into his own mouth. “Thank you John.”

Sherlock openly in love wasn't anything like living with Sherlock secretly in love. He was so affectionate. He seemed to desperately crave John's attentions in return. As soon as John sat back down Sherlock snuggled close. They laughed their way all the way through the long convoluted movie. John enjoyed Sherlock shouting at the television whenever the implausibility factor became too much for the young scientist. “Women's undergarments would not provide the right barrier to keep that vessel aloft John! It's simply not possible to hand sew an air-tight bladder large enough to bear a wooden vessel that size!”

“It's also not likely that there is a king and queen on the moon with detachable heads Sherlock. Just let it go and have a laugh!” Sherlock cuddled tight to John the entire night and John reveled in the chance to really dote on the detective the way he'd always wanted to. He petted the young man affectionately at every opportunity, stroking and caressing him gently. When he could he ran his fingers through Sherlock's soft curls, allowing them to spring back naturally. He babied the taller man all night long, making fresh tea on demand, feeding him choice tidbits and generally catering to his every whim. John felt himself calm as he lavished attention on Sherlock and Sherlock seemed to lose that overwrought tension that drove him to distraction. Both of them were extremely content.

At long last Sherlock's body grew limp and heavy. His eyes were blinking slowly and John ran loving fingers over his temples. “Time for bed love. Come on. Teeth and face.” Sherlock rose obediently and followed John to the bathroom after they shut everything off and tucked away the left overs. They took turns brushing their teeth and washed themselves perfunctorily. Sherlock was yawing heavily by now so John went to his bedroom to change into pajamas before joining Sherlock who was naked beneath his duvet. The young man frowned at John until the doctor peeled out of his pajamas and joined him. John was caught up in long arms and legs instantly as Sherlock attached himself to the doctor. “Love you Jawn.” he mumbled deeply and fell asleep before John could reply.

“Love you too darling. Sleep sweet my angel.” John kissed the top of Sherlock's head before closing his own eyes. He inhaled the complex scent of Sherlock, that fragrant blend of dark savory spices with a hint of bitter chemicals. Sherlock was totally relaxed and breathing easily, his fingers curled into John's chest hair. John smiled to himself and fell asleep blissfully happy.

Sherlock obviously woke horny because the next morning started hot and fast as soon as the younger man opened his eyes. He had taken one look at the prone and flaccid form of his army doctor and decided to launch an attack of his own. He explored John from top to bottom quickly. As John's body became more responsive Sherlock pre-emptively obtained the small bottle of lube he had and worked quickly to prepare himself. “Sherlock?” whispered John sleepily as he opened his eyes to find Sherlock swallowing him down to the root the same time the younger man's dexterous fingers were buried deep inside himself. The vision caused John to completely harden in only seconds. “Oh god.”

“I need you John.” rumbled Sherlock who gave his lover no more time than that. Nimbly Sherlock moved to straddle John. He slicked a handful of lube over John, wiping the excess off on one of the small flannels he had obviously stowed somewhere the night before. “I need to feel you today. I need to feel you tonight when I'm surrounded by everyone who's ever known me. I need to feel you John.”

John understood. Sherlock had always stood alone within his large family. He was always the odd one out, the unmatched Holmes. Even Mycroft had a long series of affairs behind him. Sherlock had nothing and no one until now. Today he was at his most vulnerable and he needed tangible evidence of their new bond. John could do that for him.

Sherlock didn't wait. He pushed himself down hard with a pained shudder. John gasped as he was taken into the heat of Sherlock's tight lean body. With a moan John began to thrust and swivel his hips. Sherlock cried out, his knees spread wide as he braced himself over John and allowed the doctor to move inside him at will. “You're so beautiful Sherlock, so sexy. I wish you could see how you look right now. I'll show them you're mine, I'll let them see how special you are, how marvelous you are, how lucky I am. My gorgeous perfect Sherlock.”

John pulled Sherlock down and ravaged his neck once again. He worked at the same bruise, ensuring it would be purple and swollen for all to see. John’s brand. John’s man. John kept his hips moving, sometimes harshly twisting his hips until Sherlock shouted and jerked hard. He'd be feeling John for hours to come. “Ride me Sherlock. Make yourself come on my cock.”

John lay back and let Sherlock take control of their pace. John took in every stroke, every rise and fall of Sherlock's efforts. He noted what the younger man seemed to enjoy the most, the places he liked to be touched, what made him almost sob with ecstasy. He wanted to learn everything there was to make his young lover feel as adored as he deserved, to wipe away every unkind touch he'd endured while in the hell of his own making. John would help Sherlock understand what true passion was all about.

John understood that Sherlock's sexual past had never been about pleasure. He'd allowed people to service themselves upon his flesh but had never received pleasure himself. He'd had all the despair and none of the delight. John vowed to change that. He'd be a burning flame in Sherlock's darkness and he would sear away everything that haunted the young man until he was unfettered completely.

“John. So big. So full.” Sherlock groaned as his hips began to buck. His long legs were tense and his slim hips seemed to swirl a bit with every drop. Every muscle in his pale torso was tight and defined. “I'm so close John. It's so good. Don't want it to end.”

John reached down and held the bottom of Sherlock's cock tight. He used his other hand to still Sherlock's hips and pushed himself deep inside that tight body and held them both still. Sherlock's panting slowed after a minute and he nodded. John let go of Sherlock's cock and began to thrust slow and smoothly into Sherlock's long lean body. “I want to fill you up Sherlock. I want a bit of me inside you all day long. Tonight you'll be sitting uncomfortably at your mother's dinner table. You'll have to be careful of how long your jacket is in case of little accidents. My come leaking out and staining your bespoke trousers. What would the family think?”

Sherlock groaned and shuddered from head to toe. His cock was almost purple and it was leaking a steady stream of pre-cum. “They'll wonder who you are. They'll question why you agreed to marry me. They'll say it's for money. They'll bring up my past. I'll look like a common whore.”

John growled instantly, “Not common. Not a whore. Owned. _Mine_. Claimed. Taken. Don't give a fuck about money. Keep it all. Just want you Sherlock. Want that mind. Want that wicked mouth. _Want you_. Just you. Beautiful debauched wicked you. They never adored you. _I do_. They never worshiped you. _I do_. They never loved you without reservation. _I do_. You have no flaws that I can see. You have survived the crucible Sherlock. You are magnificent.” John thrust inward hard with every emphasis.

John knew all about the gray area dividing good men from bad men. Good people did bad things and bad people did good things. There was a point where those areas never became untangled and that's where Sherlock thrived. He was a complex balance of good and bad. Sherlock was every extreme bundled together into one awkwardly graceful and unparalleled genius. John would glory in Sherlock until his lover's enemies were charred from the brilliance of his adoration.

Sherlock was gasping now. John drove himself upward, rocking his hips gently until Sherlock was moaning continuously. John watched as Sherlock wrapped long elegant fingers around his long slender cock and began to pull. “That's it beautiful one. Let me see you come. I want to feel your come all over me.”

“Jesus _fuck_ John! Oh god.” Sherlock's voice had lost all of its posh eloquence and was rough and unpolished. He grunted as he began to ride John's cock in time with John's thrusts. Both men panted loudly. “John. I. John. It's. _John_! Fuck. Oh fuck. _Oh god_!” All the air seemed to rush out of Sherlock as he began to come. His torso twisted and trembled as his back arched and his cock almost shook. His come jetted out and splatted wetly against John's chest. When Sherlock bore down one last time, the narrow passage of his ass tight and throbbing John could hold back no longer and he came with a deep broken moan.

They pulsed and rubbed together for several minutes. With their lustful craze eventually subsided Sherlock was shivering with aftershocks and John was drenched with sweat that burst from every pore. “I'll never get over how amazing it is with you John. It's like a whole different act. I see now that I know nothing of physical love no matter what I did in the past. With you it's all beautiful.”

John was very moved by this admission. He pulled his lover close and held him tight. When they cooled down he helped Sherlock wobble out of bed. They giggled their way to the shower where Sherlock had to lean up against the wall weakly while John washed both of them carefully. “You split me in two.” teased Sherlock eventually and John blushed but looked proud of himself.

“I'll help you get around everywhere tonight. There's no reason to be off my arm for even a moment.” Sherlock blushed when John said this but looked pleased and nodded shyly. The younger man was looking forward to being lovingly displayed for the first time. “I'm serious about protecting you Sherlock, from outright danger all the way down to hurtful words. I won't accept any more poison being directed your way. It wasn't my place before this but it is now. You'll be as safe as I can make you and you won't ever have to ask. I'll just do it.”

Sherlock stood in front of John. His face was pale and his eyes were filled with moisture. Sherlock's large hands trembled slightly when John took them into his. John kissed Sherlock's fingers, “Wait here love.” John left Sherlock standing and raced up to his room. Digging around quickly he found what he was looking for and rejoined his lover.

“I want you to wear these. If we're ever parted, even for a few minutes and you feel scared or anxious or anything uncomfortable you can feel these and know I'll be with you again as soon as I can and I'll make the bad parts go away. I care about you and only you Sherlock. You will be the most important part of my life, my whole reason for existing until my last breath and even after. It's not much but it's what I have to offer.” John hung his dog tags around Sherlock's long neck and was pleased to see Sherlock's long fingers wrap around them instantly.

“John.” Sherlock's voice was deep and filled with emotion. “John, I love you so much. I can't explain how I feel right now. I feel protected and cherished and truly loved. Thank you for these. This is so much more than I deserve, so much more than I expected.”

“Don't be silly Sherlock. I have literally _nothing_ to offer you except my old dog tags. I haven't got money. I haven't got social standing. I have no property or serious income. I'm about to go meet one of the largest most powerful old families in England with nothing better than some ratty jumpers and my second best pair of trousers because I don't even own a suit anymore and you poured acid on my best pair the last time I wore them. How do you think that makes me feel?” John hadn't wanted to complain. If he'd known he was going to meet Sherlock's family today he could have at least rented a suit or possibly purchased an inexpensive one. As it stood it he only had one set of slightly dressy clothes that might possibly be acceptable. Nearly everything Sherlock wore was bespoke. John imagined the entire family was custom fitted from head to toe.

Sherlock looked down at the dog tags unhappily. He fingered the metal tabs gently then looked at John. “Wear your jeans and your oatmeal jumper with your blue shirt. Those are my favorite. That's what I want to see today, that and those awful checkered trainers of yours. You are unbelievably adorable in those.” John grinned at his lover.

“Alright Sherlock, whatever you want.” Those were John's favorites too. His jeans were old and soft after traveling the world with him on one adventure after another. His oatmeal colored jumper had been knitted by his mum and only showed wear around the cuffs. He pulled on some sport socks before lacing himself into the shoes that Sherlock had chosen. He went to the bathroom to inspect his face for missed spots that needed re-shaving and was a bit surprised when Sherlock came at him with a handful of styling gel. A minute later and John's short hair was artfully tousled and very chic. “Thanks love.”

Sherlock grinned back at him in the mirror and used the last of the product on his own curls. John had long suspected Sherlock's wild looks weren't all natural and with another grin Sherlock showed him how capable he was at producing whatever look he felt like. Today he was going with mild Bohemian. As they finished up they heard Sherlock's phone buzz.

“Mycroft is sending a car. It will be here in twenty minutes.” Sherlock looked unhappily resigned to the entire ordeal. John held his lover tight. Sherlock let go and went to his room to get himself swiftly dressed in a silvery blue suit so well fitted that John had a hard time breathing. Sherlock looked like sex on two legs. He'd even worn that sinful aubergine shirt that made John want to simply stand and drool. John shook his head and took in Sherlock's strained expression.

“One cigarette.” he said and Sherlock flashed him a grateful smile. It took the younger man only a moment to extract the hidden packet from beneath the skull and swarm out to the fire escape to huff down one hastily enjoyed smoke. John rolled his eyes and smiled out the window at his lover. The occasional smoke was no problem as long as they both understood it was a treat and not a regular part of their lives.

Sherlock brushed his teeth carefully afterward and John kissed him extra hard after just to double check. Both men were grinning cheekily at each other as they helped one another into their coats. They went down to 221A to kiss Mrs. Hudson farewell. She tucked a bundle of napkin wrapped biscuits into John’s pocket. “For later dears, in case the food isn't up to par.”

John and Sherlock's determination to keep their kisses for only each other obviously could not include Mrs. Hudson and both men kissed her cheeks heartily and gave her a warm squeeze before they left. She was flushed and thrilled, shooing them out the door.

Mycroft and Lestrade were in the car and Sherlock groaned. He and John sat on the seat opposite them, with Sherlock shifting just a bit until he found a way to sit that didn't make him more uncomfortable than necessary. Sherlock glared indignantly at his brother and John just sighed and looked out the window, already resigned to a long uncomfortable drive. “I thought we'd get to enjoy a quiet ride there and back.” complained Sherlock mutinously.

Mycroft looked very serious. “Mummy invited Victor. I wanted to tell you before we got there.” Sherlock blanched and looked at the carpet in shock. John was alarmed to see Sherlock almost sway, the look of distant horror in his face flashing for just an instant but long enough for John to see it. John took Sherlock's hand immediately and found it to be cold and trembling.

“ _Who is Victor_? Mycroft. Tell me this instant.” barked John. Whoever this person was they had just gotten the unkind attentions of one very unhappy Captain John Watson. Mycroft looked pained and sent a beseeching gaze to his younger brother who nodded slightly. Mycroft exhaled slowly before turning back to John. Greg was sitting forward, listening intently.

“Victor Trevor is the first man to ever be with Sherlock. He's also the person that introduced Sherlock to hard drugs. Deliberately. He's a sort of a cousin by marriage and an utter scoundrel. Mummy and all the aunts are quite taken with him and have never believed he's ever been involved with anything tawdry like drugs or prostitution. Victor has never been caught and he's toyed with Sherlock all these years. I've tried to have him removed but with the family in the way it's been impossible. Mummy has always favored him because his step-father was our youngest uncle. Sherrinford died when Victor was a child so Mummy and the rest of the aunts doted on him and still do.”

John felt that slow hot ripple of fury flow through him. He let it build for a second before tamping it down carefully, storing it for later. He was a very patient man. Lestrade leaned forward. “Drugs? Prostitution? I think I need some more fucking information here Myc. What precisely are you getting me involved in?” Mycroft looked even more uncomfortable but Sherlock just snapped out his reply.

“When I was an addict I was also a prostitute. I sold my body for drugs and Victor is the man who taught me to do so, after he got me addicted. I expect he thought he'd make a rather good living off of me but I never allowed him to pimp me out. Mycroft seized me off the streets before it could get that far and forcibly cleaned me up.” John glared at Mycroft who looked ashamed and stubborn at the same time.

“What was I to do John? Sherlock couldn't stay in rehab. Victor would have used him to death! _To death_ do you understand me? My brother would have died of either an overdose or being raped to pieces by the monsters that paid for him.” John nodded tersely, accepting Mycroft's distressed reply. The man was made of ice and to see him so unsettled convinced John that he was telling the truth. John would have reigned eternal hell on anyone he caught using Sherlock so he could accept how desperate Mycroft must have been to go to such lengths to save his only brother. “Victor is protected by other family, people I can't get around. It's complicated; a mess beyond description. I would have ended the man years ago if I could have.”

John nodded again. Politics. For the Holmes family that was their entire existence in a nutshell. The doctor reached out and squeezed Sherlock's hand tight. It made sense that Sherlock would be vulnerable not from an outside attack but one from within. The detective was staring out the window, his face completely blank and pale. John knew the younger man was filled with shame and remorse at his weakness. Not only had he caved to the demands of his transport he had allowed it to dictate how he lived for years. Sherlock had pulled himself out of the trap he'd made of his life and found a way to scratch that endless itch that drove him constantly. John could understand even more why Sherlock's professional reputation was so important to him. Sherlock was brilliant and too many people would be willing to undervalue his amazing accomplishments knowing his past.

John knew just how to cheer his best friend up. “This could be fun.” said John saucily and Sherlock's head whipped around to stare at him in complete surprise. “Oh don't look like that love. This Victor character sounds like a right handful but I've survived Moriarty, Adler and two Holmes' not to mention that sniper in Afghanistan _and_ my sister.”

Sherlock's surprise turned to admiration when he remembered yet again that not only was his beautiful John a doctor but he was also a rather fearless soldier. All his veteran friends had remarked time and again about John's coolness under pressure and his instinct for survival. Sherlock could calculate every possible factor in any given situation but John just knew and his body followed. Together they were an unstoppable force. John had never failed to react perfectly and he never faltered. He had indeed survived the predations and eccentricities of a multitude of crazed genius' as well as the ceaseless taunts and jibes from one very drunken older sister. Sherlock still looked apprehensive, “You'll learn dreadful things John. We haven't had a chance to discuss anything. There's so much you need to know and we're going to be there in just a few minutes.”

“Well there's nothing to be done for it now. At least we know he's going to be there and that's something. He'll separate us at some point, it's a guarantee. If Victor is as charming as I think he is he'll probably have a whole line of attack all ready to go. Somewhere this evening he's going to get Sherlock alone and he's going to try to break him. What I need to know is where in the house Sherlock feels most vulnerable. Victor will take him there.” Sherlock and Mycroft were almost offensively surprised by John's reasoning and Greg was just nodding his head.

“Probably his bedroom or someplace lockable like a wine cellar or even the library,” mused the DI. He looked over at everyone who was now staring at him, “What! I'm not just going to stand by while Sherlock gets mind-fucked by some mentally unstable puke. These rich little snots pull crap like this all the time. I can't say I wasn't surprised to find out that Sherlock was the victim this time but it's hardly the first time one of the Blood has used its own to make a profit. It's sickening really. Just tell me where and I'll do whatever you need. I'd like to kick a little ass. It's literally Christmas.”

All the men laughed. Sherlock was obviously overwhelmed with the love and support he was receiving. John put pulled Sherlock's arm around his shoulder and leaned into the taller man. “Come on Sherlock, wasn't this what you promised me? Danger? That was your winning move with me right there.” Sherlock laughed when John reminded him of their first day together.

“Indeed John. Danger in all forms. Thank you for being my soldier.” Mycroft and Greg politely looked away when John reached up to kiss the detective tenderly. His lover was so delicate, so sensitive and nothing like the cold heartless persona he presented to the rest of the world. John knew that this entire situation was enough to test the younger man's self-control almost to its limit. Sherlock could be cold when necessary but he had so little familiarity with emotions he had no natural defenses ready when he was overwhelmed. John once again knew how to help and just offered himself up as a counterweight, willing to let Sherlock use him in any way he needed if it helped. John was born to be a human shield.

 “Always Sherlock. Never doubt it.” Sherlock hugged John's shoulder tight and smiled as the car finally pulled up to the forbidding entrance of Holmes manor. It was cold and elegant stone. The pillars at the entrance were carved in elaborate flourishes around the name Holmes and there was a short line of black uniformed staff waiting their arrival. Each uniform cost more than Greg and John's clothes combined. “Lestrade. Drinks. Our place. After.”

 “Definitely Watson.” agreed the DI, after an evening being hung out to dry all of them would need to unwind a bit. Greg was going into the fire as surely as John was but Mycroft was better prepared to shield his new lover than Sherlock was. John quickly kissed Sherlock's cheek one more time before the door was opened. John’s hand was steady on Sherlock’s arm and his heart beat steadily. He could be stepping into battle but John Watson would always be prepared to save his Sherlock. Settling a friendly smile on his face John stepped boldly into the fray.

 


	3. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are required to attend Christmas Dinner with the rest of the Holmes family. Sounds marvelous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING- There are references to past abuse.

They entered the cold stones of the great house and felt the chill of it settle over them almost instantly, as if the warmth of the day were not allowed inside. John was grateful for his jumper and understood now why Sherlock always wore so many clothes. There was already a small gathering of people just inside the door and without a pause Sherlock kept walking forward.

The receiving line was long and made up of exquisitely fashionable people. John wondered for a moment if the Holmes family was genetically engineered because all of them seemed lithe and beautiful. For a moment he had an image of a room full of elegantly garbed snakes and had to bite back a giggle. Their hair color covered the entire spectrum though ginger seemed to be an overwhelming majority. All of them were styled extensively, everyone wore the finest jewels or accouterments and all of them seemed to come with a sneer set to automatic. John smiled affably.

The doctor kept Sherlock blatantly on his arm, only letting go long enough for the younger man to surrender his Belstaff along with John's plain jacket. John's hand quickly dipped into his pocket and then back into his denim pants as he relocated Mrs. Hudson's biscuits. Sherlock stood tall and proud towering over his diminutive doctor. The difference in their height had never been more obvious and John felt as common as clay as he adjusted his cable knit jumper casually before taking Sherlock's arm again. John's back stayed ramrod straight but the rest of him ambled along easily as Sherlock bypassed everyone in line and made straight for his mother.

“Mummy.” said Sherlock gently as he stopped in front of a tall stately woman with elaborately styled silver hair and Sherlock's jeweled eyes. Sherlock didn't kiss or embrace her and she didn't seem to expect him to. Sherlock clearly got his looks from his mother. Her looks had been softened with age but she had many beauties still and John could see them reflected in his lover. Her generous cupid bow lips, which she had also gifted her youngest son, were unsmiling. “Mummy, may I present my fiancé, Captain John Hamish Watson, MD. John, this is my mother, Victoria St Claire Holmes.”

Mrs. Holmes swept John a look that was unreadable but swift not even lingering on the ring which John now felt shining almost obscenely bright on his hand. She definitely remembered John but chose to not acknowledge him yet. Her eyes flickered over the love bite on Sherlock's neck. It was vibrant purple and very obvious. Not one glimmer of warmth or friendliness was to be seen. Her beautiful face could have been carved from marble. Mummy Holmes turned her eyes to her youngest son and her sonorous voice dripped with contempt, “ _The_ _commoner_ Sherlock? Well I suppose you can't afford to be choosy anymore now can you? I had high hopes for my sons and their future alliances but I see I am left with nothing. Mycroft, what have you been occupying yourself with that you let your younger brother come to this? Who is _that_? Servants should be brought through the appropriate entrance. You know this.”

Greg flushed a bit but didn't react in any other way. He was well dressed in a dinner suit but it wasn't the high quality outfit that Mycroft wore. Everything about Lestrade screamed commoner as loudly as John's jumper and jeans. Mycroft's face was as expressionless as John had ever seen it. He looked down at his dismissive parent and spoke in a polite clear voice, “Mother may I have the honor of presenting my partner Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade of New Scotland Yard. Gregory, this is my mother Victoria St Claire Holmes.”

“St Claire! Seem to remember a bit of bad business with a Francis St Claire back in the eighties.” Greg smiled in a friendly way as Victoria's mouth twisted. He had a rather winning way of remembering the transgressions of the elite class of England. It was one of the traits that Sherlock enjoyed enough to tolerate the rest of the DI for. Victoria Holmes glowered down at Greg and he just looked coolly back at her. He was unimpressed with her hauteur and she was put off by his lack of instant obeisance.

“My late uncle.” she said mildly but her eyes snapped. Greg just nodded and smiled off into the distance. He'd never gotten along with the aristocracy and had a reputation for stomping extra hard whenever he gained access to their world. John stifled a smile of his own when Victoria's gaze returned to the soldier. She looked almost pleasant when she smiled but her eyes were daggers. Her voice was sweet and smooth when she finally asked, “Shall I address you as Captain or Doctor?”

“I'm no longer commissioned and I don't work full time at the clinic. I prefer to be called John.” Mrs. Holmes looked at him coldly. She would never stoop to something as intimate as his first name. John smiled back warmly radiating sunbeams and rainbows. It was almost sickening how cuddly he suddenly appeared. His jumper seemed fluffier than ever. His huge blue eyes were sweet and warm, now the color of a summer day after a soothing rain. John was paying attention to Sherlock's mother with respectful attentiveness. The pinky finger on the hand closest to Sherlock twitched though and Sherlock knew John was irritated and not impressed with Mummy's passive aggressive attitude. John wasn't a wild card like his lover though. He was implacable and Sherlock was so pleased to realize that his soldier could not be daunted even by Mummy's blatant disapproval. Sherlock's mother was brilliant of course but it was obvious to her youngest that she completely missed the metal in John's character, his inoffensive and ordinary appearance completely blinding her due to her pride. Sherlock's face froze as he tried not to laugh or smile but it was a struggle.

Mummy must have realized that she and John were already at a stalemate. They couldn't work on their new and unavoidable relationship here and now. It would have to wait until a more private moment could be arranged. She politely inclined her head, “Very well _Doctor Watson_. Dinner will be precisely at six. Until then Sherlock you will introduce your fiancé to the family. Everyone is gathering in the Blue Room.” They were clearly dismissed. Sherlock allowed John to walk him away before leading him to the library for a moment to collect themselves. Mycroft had led Greg off to the far end of the great room and was introducing him to the collection of cousins there.

“I think she liked me this time. She almost smiled I thought. Maybe I should have tried a small joke, what do you think?” John teased Sherlock knowing that the entire introduction had been disastrous and that only Mrs. Holmes' well-honed manners had kept her from giving Sherlock a tongue lashing and tossing John completely out of the manor by force. John's lack of obvious offense had once again worked against the Holmes', even a Holmes by marriage.

“Oh John you are such a delight. She was absolutely horrified. _The commoner_! That's what she was worried about. You were so cute. I wanted to pinch your cheek right in front of her. Mummy didn't know what to make of you. How did you do that? It's always annoyed me but seeing it being used on someone else. Well. It was rather enjoyable.” John laughed with Sherlock and went back to just being normal regular John.

“I used to do that to my sister when she was particularly irritating, the puppy-eyes. Harry's friends would think I was too precious and would stop Harry from doing whatever she was doing to annoy me. It made her insane. Being small has its uses.” John pushed Sherlock up against a stack of books and kissed him hard. Short or not he knew how his way around a certain consulting detective so well that the taller man was instantly responding. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around his soldier immediately and kissed him back.

“Pocket-sized and scrumptious.” teased the tall detective in return. John poked him in the ribs and Sherlock grunted out a laugh. Sherlock ran a loving hand over John's shoulders and back. He was very tender and appreciative of his doctor's form. “I'm glad you don't really have a problem with your height John. I think you're gorgeous. Every bit of you is deliciously sexy and there is just enough of you.”

“I kind of feel like a hobbit with your family though. The house looks like it's peopled with the residents of the Rivendell. What's with that?” John was shorter than most of the women present and he had yet to spot a single person that wasn't almost entirely flawless. He was suddenly hyper aware of his soft stomach and gray hair. The soldier had crow’s feet now and pretty much everything about him had seen better days. His faced was lined and his nose lacked the aristocratic tilt that everyone else present had been born with. John was just ordinary and unremarkable.

“They are ugly on the inside John, all of them rotten to the core. It happens in old families. The ichor builds and builds until it taints everything. They're steeped in generation’s worth of pompous elitism. They are all carefully bred with one another until all you see is endless permutations of the same empty vessel.” Sherlock looked unhappy. John knew most people thought very poorly of Sherlock's mannerisms and aloof attitudes but John could now understand how Sherlock had been carefully raised to be exactly that way. It was expected and even approved of in his social circle. Marrying someone plain like John who could comfortably deal with a high strung self-proclaimed sociopath was not what the Holmes family expected. If Sherlock had ever married he would have been wed to a distant family member of his mother's choosing since his father was no longer alive. It would have been advantageous if entirely loveless.

“Rocking the boat by just being here aren't I. You Holmes boys sure know how to shock your family, both sons _picking up with_ _commoners_ _at Christmas_? Come on love, time to show your slag around.” Sherlock scoffed at John's description of himself. He kissed John hard and passionately before allowing the older man to stand on his own.

“I shall be very grateful John Watson if you would consider lowering yourself long enough to meet some of the most despicable people on earth. There are liars, philanderers, thieves and bullies.” Sherlock was speaking truthfully. His family was awful. “You are all honey and steel with a hint of gun oil. I promised you danger but you are the dangerous one. I'm still an addict but now I'm addicted to you John. I hope I never get over it.”

John looked up at his lover and saw beneath the bravado and sweet words that the younger man was very afraid. He didn't want John to think ill of him because of the evening to come. His pride was about to be dealt several blows and he couldn't avoid it. John smiled up and pulled the younger man down for a kiss. “The addiction is mutual. Come on love, time to introduce me to the family. Together, like always, right?”

Sherlock made to move but suddenly gripped John's wrist anxiously, “My old bedroom. It's upstairs fifth door on the right. The key should still be wedged into the frame two feet from the bottom of the left side. That's where he'll take me if he takes me anywhere. That's where it all started and that's where he always took me to break me a little further.” Sherlock was pale as the words tumbled out. They hadn't seen the man yet but John knew somewhere in the house Victor Trevor was roaming, searching for his old victim. John pulled Sherlock down for a last embrace, their foreheads pressed together as they breathed each other in. With a small reassuring smile John took Sherlock's arm.

They went out to mingle with the ravishing crowd. John was introduced to a disturbing tangle of cousins, all of whom not only looked similar but were known by endless combinations of the same tongue twisting ancient family names. There were Philomenes’, and Valentines, Chronos’ and Mephistopheles’ as well as a long litany of other ancient and prestigious names. Every person was particular about how their name was presented and eyed each other jealously. The name Sherlock came up at least four times but always as a second or third name, same as Mycroft.

All of them sneered or looked mildly revolted when they learned that John wasn't from any sort of pedigreed family “He's a _commoner_!” they whispered loudly. When John was introduced as Sherlock's fiancé all of them were surprised as well as skeptical. “Is this a convenience match?” Each of them stared at the mark on Sherlock's neck, “Vulgar.” At least half of them insinuated John's interest in Sherlock's wealth. “He'd have to be wealthy to catch anyone at all.” The fact that John failed to react to any of their venom made more than one of them flustered. All their insults may as well have not occurred as far as John's reactions were concerned. They threw one malicious remark after another at them but John just smiled sweetly. He was a blank wall, a fluffy adorable one.

Every last one of them knew something personal about Sherlock they couldn't wait to expose. John was treated to a long list of stories that detailed Sherlock's delayed potty training all the way up to night emissions as a teenager, a story he was assured was completely factual if the laundry staff was to be believed. They threw in stories of Sherlock's supposed first crush, the time he'd broken his arm falling out of a tree, the night he was 'accidentally' locked in the larder and no one heard his screams for hours, the many times Sherlock was later locked away for his own good because of his 'little problem'. Each story was delivered with vicious glee as one cousin after another attempted to mortify their least favorite relative in front of his very unwelcome lover. John just smiled and listened politely to everyone, his hand stroking over Sherlock's arm soothingly each time they were forced to endure another embarrassing revelation.

Once in a while they'd direct a question actually at John. “So Doctor Watson, what is it that you do with our Sherlock. We've heard you two have a little hobby.” This was from a willowy and otherwise beautiful woman named Odette Seraphim Holmes. She sneered as had everyone else but a lady had asked him a question so John answered.

“We uncover the truth behind crimes, find the criminals.” said John blandly, the woman quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What happens when the criminal fights back? I've heard they do that.” Odette’s eyes traveled down John's body, letting him know how inferior she found him. She towered over him, especially in her heels but John didn't flinch. She smiled as if she'd won the matter but John just looked up at her.

“Then I shoot them, usually to wound but occasionally to kill. Normally though we just call NYS and let Lestrade and his team arrest them otherwise it's a lot of paperwork.” That made her step back. John's expression was completely open. People had been reading him like the evening paper all night. He very certainly wasn't lying and suddenly the sneers were dialed back a couple of degrees. Sherlock held back a proud grin as his family began to realize there was more to John than there seemed.

John then began referring to all the men as Harold and all the women as Grace, regardless of their actual proudly stated names. John also made no comment or indication that he'd even heard their little stories. He chatted lightly with Sherlock like there was no one else around. It was as if the cousins had been speaking to a frumpy statue. Sherlock almost pulled a muscle trying not to laugh. As they finished the introductory rounds John had managed to alienate nearly the entire room with the exception of a single ancient uncle whose name happened to actually be Harold. Ancient Harold had been delighted to meet a military man, a profession the elder found very respectable indeed. “Some new blood will do this rotten family some good. The lot of them need a good stiff march in the rain and a boot up their arse.”

“I liked him. Can we sit near him during dinner?” asked John as Sherlock led him to the next crowd of cousins. Sherlock was pale but standing straight and tall. His face was an unreadable mask to anyone but John who knew the proud yet sensitive younger man was humiliated by some of the personal facts John had learned during their rounds. The younger man's voice however sounded completely relaxed and calm as he answered John.

“Unfortunately we will be required to sit at the head of the table with Mummy. Mycroft and Greg will have to sit at the right and we'll have to sit at the left of her. After that everyone is arranged according to their proximity to the heir of the Holmes fortune.” John looked up at Sherlock as realization dawned. Sherlock confirmed it. “It's Mycroft. He's the heir. Gregory's life is probably being plotted against even as we speak and yours as well. After Mycroft it's me, then cousin Balthazar Michelson Holmes, then Abigail Penelope Holmes-Cromby, then several people until you eventually get to Victor Trevor who's about number seventy-eight in line and only because late Uncle Sherrinford adopted him. Victor won't even be sitting at the main table. He'll be off at one of the round tables at the other end of the dining hall.”

John stopped walking as he processed the information. “Victor Trevor tried to marry you didn't he, for the money and the rest of it. When that couldn't happen he fucked you over instead out of spite, am I right?” hissed John suddenly as more pieces fell into place inside his head. Of course it would be for money. How many crimes had they investigated with that precise motivation as the cause of the tragedy? John now knew that Victor Trevor had wanted to be the heir to the fortune. Everyone in this room did. Mycroft was way out of his league, invulnerable to Victor's blandishments but isolated out-of-place Sherlock; he had been an easy mark. John looked at Sherlock to wait for his answer. When the dark haired man nodded John dragged him off to a small alcove that was partially hidden behind long velvet drapes.

“It wasn't legal to have same sex marriages then. I certainly didn't feel any attraction or attachment to Victor though he was very genial and quite intelligent. Victor tried to convince me we were in love that I would want to be with him physically if I gave him a chance. I believed I was a sociopath and that I couldn't feel. He told me he loved me, told me how I ought to be feeling, that I was broken somehow and that he knew how to fix it. I still wasn't interested in his body but the drugs he gave me were irresistible. The first time I used them it was bliss. Everything troublesome just...went away. He gave me some every day for weeks. One day he said it wasn't free anymore. When I wanted more...” Sherlock paled even further and couldn't look at John.

John looked at the tense figure in front of him. A flash of shame and humiliation was quickly replaced with the enigmatic mask Sherlock normally wore in public. John's blood turned to fire and he growled, “He raped you didn't he. He took what he wanted after he made you an addict so he could keep taking what wasn't his.” Sherlock nodded shallowly, barely able to acknowledge it, Sherlock could hardly been out of school when this must have happened. He never had a chance to blossom on his own. John swore almost silently for a full minute then pulled himself together. He tamped the anger down carefully yet again. Did no one but Mycroft even care that Sherlock had been traumatized? John looked at Sherlock with tenderness and stroked his cheek gently. “I'm sorry it happened like that darling. You won't ever have to be afraid of him. I'm taking care of this tonight. I swear it. Tell me what happened.”

“I should have known better John! Victor gave me a shot every single night after dinner until I was well and truly hooked, although to be totally honest the first time was enough. The night he made me beg for him he let me get high first and then he took me. I'd never been intimate with anyone before. I didn't know what to expect. There was no foreplay, no preparation. He had a condom and some lube. He made me kneel on the couch in my room. It hurt so much. I pleaded for him to stop but he ignored me. He came to me every night that way for nearly a month. He wasn't interested in affection. It was never tender. I ran away but I was still addicted. I knew people found me attractive enough that I could obtain drugs if I let them do what they wished with my body. I didn't care at that point. He'd hurt me so much already that being handled by strangers was almost a relief. That's what I did, for months. Victor found me several times but I always managed to slip away again. I worked one crack house after another until Mycroft had me seized. Victor then tracked me from one rehab center to another, that's why I kept escaping. He raped me more than once while I was confined. Victor blackmailed the orderlies to access me. Mycroft couldn't prove anything. The only way to keep me safe was to keep me here but that meant the entire family found out about my addiction. Mycroft had his own people watch me until I was ready to be on my own again. Mycroft still watches me.”

“I'm sorry I didn't bring my fucking gun.” grated John who was having a hard time not searching Victor Trevor out and murdering him on the spot. No one had the right to touch anyone without permission. Someone had violated the person John loved and he thirsted for a chance at vengeance. Both of them knew John wouldn't kill Victor. That would be too fast. Something about the look in his face erased the misery from Sherlock's and the taller man relaxed and allowed John to hold him. Even though he was so much taller than the doctor John felt like the man in front of him had been trying to curl up and disappear but now he looked calm and almost peaceful. “I love you Sherlock. I'll look out for you for the rest of my days. We have so much to share with one another and there hasn't been time enough to prepare for this but you know I'm going to look after you. I love you. _You are mine_ and everyone is going to accept that whether they like it or not.”

Sherlock looked tender and kissed John's forehead gently. The warmth of their bodies pressed together soothed them both. Finally Sherlock took John's hand gently in his, “Come along. Dinner is about to be served. You're about to learn why I hate food.” John escorted Sherlock grandly to the head of the table, even seating his young gentleman lovingly before allowing his own chair to be properly placed by the server. Mummy ignored them to continue speaking softly with Mycroft while Greg inspected everyone he could see down the long dark wood table. The DI winked at John and John winked back at him.

The cousin to John's right was named Rutherford Ebenezer Holmes. After informing John that Sherlock had become afraid of the dark after the larder incident and had once wet himself in terror at being locked in a janitor's closet John just smiled absently at him. “Good to meet you Harold.” said John genially, earning a sneer from Rutherford, a matching cold shoulder and a barely repressed snicker from Sherlock. “No one wants to talk to me darling.” John pretended to complain. Sherlock grinned over to his lover and John winked back at him.

The first course was served. It was minuscule, gorgeous and completely horrible to taste. John spat it out after the first bite and left the remainder untouched on his plate. “What the fuck was that?” He whispered to Sherlock who hadn't touched his at all and simply sat there.

“Goose liver pate, not the good kind, this kind has been tortured by Mummy's chef until everything good about it was entirely removed. Expect all the other dishes to have the same result. For some reason there's a level in haute cuisine that bypasses edibility in favor of art. We could have brought a pack of crayons as snacks and done better. I wish you'd made dinner. I'd eat then.” Sherlock looked miserable but disguised it well. John flushed with pride when he heard Sherlock's offhand compliment about his cooking. John dug in his pocket and produced the small packet he'd put there when they'd handed over their coats.

“Mrs. Hudson. Bless her.” said John as he eased a biscuit into Sherlock's hand. Both of them ate the small bundle quickly and somewhat furtively. The buttery biscuits staved off the hungriness that John was experiencing and that Sherlock was clearly used to. What was most satisfying was the knowledge that somewhere someone had gone through the trouble of baking those delicious mouthfuls just for them. Every bite tasted of home and love.

Dinner lasted for nearly two hours in which not a single person directed a comment or question their way. Sherlock was on the outs with nearly everyone present and John had managed to aggravate everyone. The doctor was quite proud of it. He had no use for the sort of people he'd met tonight.

Mummy directed polite comments at them but made it plain that she was still unhappy with the pair of them. Sherlock shrank back into his chair and remained silent for the duration. John wasn't very impressed with her treatment of her son. If anyone knew how easy it was to hurt Sherlock it should be her! Giving him the cold shoulder in public was cutting the young man to the quick and she didn't seem to care. When everyone was finally excused from the culinary torture they made their way to a large ballroom for drinks and some family mingling. Sherlock's cheeks were still tinged with pink at the malicious smiles his cousins directed at him as they strolled.

John stopped Sherlock from walking and stepped close to him, whispering softly and quickly. “Okay Sherlock. Here it is. The stories I heard tonight. I slept with a security blanket until I was ten. Mum probably still has it. I had an imaginary friend named Joshua until I was thirteen. Rubber ducks, the bathtub kind, they terrify me. I don't know why. I didn't have a problem wetting the bed but the night thing...well let's just say I had to do the laundry every single day until I figured out something with my socks which we are so not discussing here. I also got to enjoy a lovely period of teenage acne which Harry will very much enjoy telling you about at the first opportunity. There. Believe me, I can match you blush for blush. We both had awkward childhood moments. Everyone does. That's why we get to be kids, so we can go through those things and learn. Your family is made up of a bunch of super intelligent assholes with heavy overtones of bully thrown in. I plan to ignore each and every one of them. Only you matter.”

“I don't know why knowing those things about you makes me feel better but they do so thank you John.” Sherlock flushed faintly once again before he got himself under control. John let him compose himself before they made their way to an unlit fireplace not too many people were congregating around. Sherlock had very little experience when it came to dealing directly with his own emotions and the last couple of days had challenged him. John knew the man just needed a minute to think, to reflect and absorb everything he'd learned. John was patient so Sherlock leaned up against the mantle and tuned out, knowing that John understood. John stood with his back to the crowd so he could enjoy the much better view of Sherlock. The detective was only gone for a few minutes before he blinked twice and looked down at his doctor. The taller man looked cool and elegant again, the smile Sherlock was directing at John was warm and hinting at more. John was returning the smile with interest when it vanished from Sherlock's face.

“ _John_.” Sherlock grabbed John's hand and clung tight. John turned to look in the direction Sherlock was facing. From the far end of the ballroom John could see a tall and rakishly handsome man had entered the room. He moved with confidence. As he made his way slowly through the crowd the blond haired man bestowed smiles and kisses on all the grand dames present, winks and grins with everyone else. Victor Trevor was popular with the family that was clear enough. All of them were comfortable letting him breeze by them without offense. He was indirectly making his way right towards them with a lascivious smirk. Sherlock's voice was quavery but filled with determination, “If he's anything like he was before he'll just take me John. Let him. Follow right away but don't let him see you. I'll be waiting.”

John nodded before he positioned Sherlock near the hallway and turned his back to the oncoming predator. Victor would of course be completely comfortable here on his old stalking ground. He probably knew every little thing about Sherlock to make the man crack under pressure. John allowed himself to drift to the side, nearly behind another group of cousins but still only a couple of feet from his lover. Victor swanned right up to Sherlock boldly. Everyone was looking away, concentrating on a small piano entertainment being provided by one of the younger cousins. John was simply standing there, absently looking off into the distance as if he wasn't with Sherlock at all and just part of the thick crowd. Without saying a word Victor boldly grabbed Sherlock's hand and pushed him through the exit and down a long hallway. John gave them only a second before he followed.

Victor dragged an unresisting Sherlock up a long flight of curving stairs until he pushed him through a pair of tall wooden double doors. The lock clicked shut and for an anxious moment John couldn't locate the key. Sherlock knew he was coming but until John was inside the room with his lover John wouldn't stop feeling afraid. He could hear Victor begin to speak and scrabbled his fingers anxiously up and down the frame before he managed to finally find the key and pry it out. The man's voice was smooth and silky, filled with greedy venom. “It's been a long time Sherly. I missed our little sessions. I know you have too. Making me wait for you wasn't very nice but we can thank your brother for that, right? As punishment I'm going to take you first before I give you the needle. I want you to feel it burn. _Bend the fuck over you cheap little tart_. I know your ass is still nice and tight. It always is. Like an eternal virgin, aren't you? Scream all you want. You and I both know no one can hear you up here. If you do a proper job I've got some of the good stuff to help you feel better.”

John heard a ringing slap and Sherlock grunting. John didn't hesitate. Turning the key into the lock he pushed the door quietly open. John flowed right into the room almost silently just as Victor grabbed Sherlock's neck and tried to force him over the couch. Victor was already erect and Sherlock looked like he wanted to vomit. Adrenaline slammed through John’s veins, “ _Hands off Trevor. He's not yours_.” John was snarling as he grabbed Victor and threw him to the floor hard instead of braining him like he wanted to.

Victor let out woof of surprise as he hit the floor rolling. He was back up on his feet in an instant and glared down at the much shorter man snarling at him, “Who the fuck is this Sherlock?” John didn't pause he walked right up to Victor Trevor and punched him right in the balls as hard as he could. It sounded like a tea kettle when Victor screamed and he dropped to his knees where John wrenched his head back and spat right in his face. Victor's handsome face had lost all beauty as he strained with agony and shock. John's saliva ran down and dripped onto Victor's bespoke suit.

John's voice was clipped and almost impersonal. “Hello. We need to have a quick discussion about how unavailable Sherlock is now. You don't get to touch him or speak to him. That little love tap was a warning. Here, look up.” Victor looked up, his red face painted with agony and surprise. John had taken out his mobile and snapped a picture of him. He let Victor slump back down as John quickly attached the photo to an email and sent it off. “I've just sent your picture to some military friends of mine.”

“Why, who the fuck are you? Sherlock and I have an arrangement, that little whore has been trading his ass for years.” that just earned Victor another punch, this one in his lower intestine. He doubled over and nearly puked. John forced him to his feet again. “Why the fuck are you hitting me? He's a fucking street walking whore! He's sold his ass to me and everyone else a hundred times already.”

John ignored everything Victor wheezed out and continued, “My mates and I, we have a game we play. We play it all over the planet. We pick a target, someone deserving. Then we hunt them. Sometimes it’s to maim and sometimes it's to the death. It has to look like an accident or you don't win the game and everyone wants to win. Want to know what the goal is? The goal is to provide evidence. It can be anything. I've never done it but most of the others like small portable bits like fingers and ears. Now that you are on the list the bit of you I'm going to claim if I catch you is your cock. I'm going to preserve it and hang it above my mantle next to our human skull. I’ll get Sherlock to tell you how we got that someday. Good story that one.”

Victor looked terrified and sickened. John picked another target and sank his fist into Victor's kidney. Victor groaned and tried to fall over but John somehow kept the larger man standing up. “Stop. Please stop.” begged the blond. “He wanted it. He begged for it. I only gave him what he asked for! He liked it for fuck's sake! Sherlock whored himself out! He's a cock slut.”

John punched his other kidney and let the man drop to the floor to writhe in agony as John walked around him. He kept going once again as if Victor had not said a word, “Anyway my friends have friends. They send the picture around. Army… Navy…Air-force… everywhere. Not just Brits either. I've got buddies from every country you can name that like to play this game. It helps us blow off steam. You in the military Victor? No? I was. Long timer. Surgeon too. I've got a very steady hand. I could probably remove your dick and your balls without killing you or using anesthetic.”

John dragged Victor to his feet one last time but only to punch him in the short ribs, making it nearly impossible for the taller man to breathe. Sherlock stood stunned and amazed as his gentle caring doctor showed a side of himself he rarely revealed. John was cold. John was serious. Victor Trevor was terrified. “You played with Sherlock so now it's my turn to play with you. I want you to think about all the things you think I can do to you and remember that Sherlock's brother would not only make any evidence disappear but he'd probably loan me somewhere to butcher you slowly.” Both Sherlock and John saw the full body shudder of complete horror that shook Victor.

Victor stood there with a beet red face and tried not to wince as John stepped squarely into his personal space to look him directly in the eye, pulling the taller man down to do so. With a calm sweet voice John said, “It's been ever so lovely meeting you Harold. Can I call you Harold? I'm John. Sherlock is my best friend as well as my fiancé. I know toffs like you prefer a higher standard of enemy what with your game playing and the little twisty things you do to one another. Unfortunately for you I'm a straight shooter. I won't be threatening your friends or kidnapping your pets or blackmailing you with what I know. I'll just find you, take you to pieces while you’re awake and screaming before I kill you. We'll see you downstairs soon Harold. Once you leave the manor the hunt begins.”

Once John stepped back Victor fell to his knees and gasped. John kicked Victor in the stomach hard before he forced the heaving man to his feet and rushed him out the door, chucking him so hard that Victor crashed into the wall on the other side of the hall. John then shut it tight and locked it before going over to Sherlock who was sinking down onto the couch shaking from head to toe. “Shh. It's okay love. I'm here. It's over. It's all over and it won't ever happen again. I'm here darling. Come here. It's all okay now.” John soothed Sherlock who was lost and devastated looking. John wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled his face into the crook of his neck. John then ran his fingers soothingly up and down Sherlock's spine until the trembles faded and he was finally breathing easy. John still felt extremely protective and when he finally spoke to Sherlock his voice was filled with gentle pride, “That was a lot for you to put up with darling. You're doing so well tonight. You didn't deduce anyone and you gave me the opportunity to hurt Victor, thank you love. This has been the best Christmas ever.”

Sherlock started to laugh especially when John gave him an appreciative kiss. Sherlock looked hard at John, his bi-chromatic eyes wide and almost astounded looking, “John have I told you how fantastically amazing you are? You are fucking amazing. Are you really going to do what you said?”

John looked up at his young lover calmly.“ You can fucking count on it! I will run that asshole right into the ground and cut his rapist dick right the fuck off before feeding him to the pigs. He crosses our path one time and it's on. I was only bullshitting about the end of the night and my friends. There isn't a game, just me. Victor Trevor doesn't need to know that though. He deserves to live in fear. Now everywhere he goes he'll feel like someone wants a piece of him.” Sherlock threw himself on top of John and smothered him with kisses.

“I love you. I love you! This whole night has been horrible. Everyone loathes me. Not even Mummy has been nice. She's still angry with me about being gone. What you did with Victor!” Sherlock was almost mumbling because he didn't stop kissing John as he spoke. John tried to catch his breath in between. “He can't retaliate the way he could have with Mycroft. He's got no connections over you. He's got no one on his side against you. You're so perfect John. You're so utterly amazing and perfect. You did this for me!”

“Of course I did it for you Sherlock. I love you. What wouldn't I do for you! Come on darling. We have to go back downstairs. I'm not having sex with you in this funeral home and I want to go home for a proper shag.” Sherlock laughed softly and kissed John tenderly one last time before helping him out of the sofa. They straightened their clothes. John double checked the cheek Victor had slapped but it was only faintly pink. Sherlock kissed the hand that John had hit Victor with so many times. “I expect some shiny armor in the future.”

“If I thought you'd actually wear it I could make that happen John.” said Sherlock seriously. Thinking back over some of the more outrageous disguises the younger man had effortlessly produced over the years John didn't doubt it. Sherlock probably was owed a favor by some blacksmith somewhere who would be only too glad to make John a real suit of armor. John shook his head and led his lover back downstairs to rejoin the crowd. Sherlock was carrying himself with easy pride once more, looking sexy and comfortable. John grinned hungrily and winked once more at his gorgeous lover, loving the return of the self-confidence which had abandoned the normally arrogant genius.

Victor was as far from them as he could get. As soon as he saw John he paled and turned his back. John hadn't left a visible mark on him and stood there at parade rest enjoying the fear he had instilled in the much larger man. The dashing Mr. Trevor was trapped by his own popularity. Instead of being able to hide like he wanted he was being forced to listen to story after story as one elderly matron after another took a minute to visit. He kept cutting nervous eyes towards John and Sherlock as they paused at the entrance to the room.

An older woman dressed in far too much lace sniffed loudly as she looked at John and Sherlock. John had Sherlock on his arm, “I see like attracts like.” she sneered and turned her back. Her tone heavily implied the name that Donovan was so fond of calling Sherlock “freak”.

“Hey Sherlock, I think she just called me brilliant and handsome.” whispered John theatrically, his hushed words carrying clear across the room. Sherlock's body shook with laughter but his voice was very serious when he replied.

“Well you know I only settle for the best so dashing high ranking military personnel who also happen to be a qualified doctor would certainly suit.” John blushed faintly when Sherlock called him dashing. There had been a soft tone in the younger man's voice, a hint of caress that let John know that Sherlock wasn't teasing about his compliments, even if they were poking gently at his relations.

Sherlock and John began the rounds again casually until they ended up with the actual Harold who was chatting with a man in uniform. “John! Come meet one of your fellows. Bill Murray, our new relation to be, John Watson.” The man turned. He and John laughed and shook hands warmly.

“John! I cannot believe my eyes. Harold you old shit, this my old mate John. He's a doctor you know, sewed me up loads of times.” Bill Murray was a tall imposing man with faintly reddish hair and sea storm eyes. His gaze was penetrating and firm while still being friendly. He was clearly still in service and was dressed in his formal uniform. His voice boomed and carried all across the ballroom and everyone within earshot could not help but hear him, including Victor. “John you little devil! Harold! Never piss this one off. He's tiny but he's dangerous. He can dissect you with one hand and sew you back together with the other. Some knobs fucked with him back in the desert and I kid you not, we never saw them again. Not a hair. John what in the world are you doing here on the cloning floor? I only came to keep Harold company. He's my late uncle's old partner. Ain't that right Harold? You and Amos were together for what, forty years?”

“That's right Bill. Gentlemen friends they called it. Confirmed bachelors. John! I knew I liked you for a reason! If Bill says you're alright you must be. My instincts are never wrong and Bill never lies.” Both men could be heard clearly. Both John and Sherlock could see Victor clutch the wall to support himself before staggering away desperately trying to walk like he wasn't pissing his pants in fear. John and Sherlock grinned at each other. John took Sherlock's hand and pulled him closer.

“I'm getting married Bill. This is Sherlock Holmes. Harold is his uncle. Sherlock this is one of my friends, Sargent Bill Murray. We served one year together right before I left Afghanistan.” Bill looked at Sherlock appraisingly. Sherlock was gazing down at John with total adoration which the big man seemed to find perfectly acceptable.

“Sherlock you are one lucky fellow. John is a catch, make no mistake. Three Continents Watson they called him! John, you are the bravest man I've ever met to want to marry into this madhouse. Sherlock. Look after John. He's as mild as milk as long as he's happy. He's rip your balls off if he's not. I trust you know him well enough to treat him right.” John looked over at Sherlock who was listening to Bill.

“I promise you Sargent Murray. I have no desire except to make John the happiest of men. He's my best friend and my partner. I cannot do without him.” Sherlock looked at John with blatant devotion. The cousins watched discretely, unsure if this was another of Sherlock's little ploys or if they were actually witnessing their unusual relation in love.

John smiled back at Sherlock. He was still feeling protective of his lover and stroked the taller man's hand gently. He could care less what Sherlock's family thought of either of them. Their introductions had given him all the indication he needed that he was missing nothing by way of friends. If Sherlock's many relations felt like continuing their collective shunning of the young man John wouldn't regret it for an instant. Bill of course knew John the way no one else did, not even Sherlock. He looked down at the happily smiling doctor, “What do you get out of this John, besides having a pretty on your arm?” Bill clearly didn't know Sherlock at all.

John's grin was heart-felt and genuine. He looked over to the soldier in front of him. He sounded proud when he said, “I get all the adventure I can handle, dead bodies and closed room mysteries, serial killers and late night chases plus the chance to make tea. Sherlock's a consulting detective. He mostly works for NSY but we take commissions from the public if the case is interesting enough.” Bill looked appropriately impressed and Ancient Harold took a closer look at Sherlock.

“The last time I saw you lad you were in a bad way. That's all over and done with, yes?” the old man watched Sherlock sharply. Sherlock looked chagrined but John squeezed his fingers and Sherlock looked directly at the elderly man.

“Yes uncle. John helps me. We've been friends for five years now. I've been good all that time.” John smiled supportively at Sherlock. He knew his lover's addiction still called to him and always would. John now had the liberty to make sure his Sherlock never lacked for distractions that would prevent his bored mind into leading him astray again. Sherlock was driven and single minded. That also made it easy to derail him and when he fell, drugs had always been his fix of choice. Removing Victor Trevor had been the last barrier Sherlock required to regain his fragile personal esteem back.

“What do you do to keep him settled John? Sherlock was always excitable.” Harold was showing more interest in the couple than anyone else in the family. Sherlock looked like a maiden and John was charmed by the shy bashfulness he was displaying in front of his uncle. It was so unlike Sherlock who was normally abrasive, rude, cutting and aggressive.

“I make tea and let him cheat at Cluedo.” said John cheekily. Harold boomed out a laugh along with Bill. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to suppress a faint blush. He did cheat at Cluedo. He hated losing and there was something about childish games that made the taller man go back to them time and time again. John always humored him and played when asked.

“John I do not cheat. Those rules are extremely unrealistic.” Sherlock tried to look disgruntled but John hugged him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Sherlock couldn't stay angry, even for pretend. He looked over at Harold instead, “Uncle, John helps me solve crimes. He's got a knack for understanding motivations. It's also very useful having an army doctor with me. He's patched me up a number of times so well I have yet to scar seriously.”

“Patched you up? How many times have you cheated death Sherlock?” John and Sherlock had a quick consultation with one another. Fingers were counted on and cases were brought up. They softly argued back and forth while everyone watched them bicker with tiny smiles on their faces. John and Sherlock were very obviously used to one another. They spoke in half sentences or often using just single words but understood each other perfectly. Several minutes went by. Finally Sherlock looked up.

“Between twenty and forty-five times. There are a few cases I think we were fine on but John disagrees. There was also the time I faked being dead but that can't possibly count. John's been in a coma twice now, fractured seven bones and endured about twenty different knife and bullet wounds. He's a patchwork.” Sherlock's admiration of John's scars was blatant. John winked at the taller man while Bill and Harold gaped the pair in stunned surprise.

“Don't look at us like that. It all didn't happen at once. We do dangerous work though. Sherlock's abilities have saved dozens of lives. He's a genius at what he does. Mycroft's partner is a Detective Inspector in London. He gives Sherlock cases to work on. Sherlock's closed all sorts of cold cases and cracked all the unsolvable ones that crop up. We're kind of like a crime fighting family now. I blog about it. We have a fan-base and everything.” John was very proud of their lives together. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand and tugged the younger man closer. Sherlock slipped his arm possessively around John's shoulder and they smiled at each other.

Harold sounded impressed. “Keeping yourself gainfully occupied. I wish others would do as much. This family is filled end to end with courtiers and wastrels. Amos would never come to the gatherings. Even if he were alive today he wouldn't be here. Hated Victoria especially. Oh she's a cold one Sherlock. No disrespect but I'm convince Sieger allowed himself to die rather that stay alive with her. Theirs was an arranged marriage John. The St Claire's needed some respectability and Sieger was getting on. Victoria was never happy. Still isn't but the vipers around here keep her entertained. As if their eternal machinations with one another impact anything of relevance! Good for you nephew, using your born talents to do something worthwhile. Solving crimes you say. Good boy. I approve.”

“Thank you uncle but Mycroft is the one doing good. He's been working for government for nearly twenty-five years now. He's doing what he can for the good of the country.” Sherlock rarely garnered praise for his brother but Harold just nodded thoughtfully.

“Victoria has no right keeping the role as head of the family. Mycroft is wasting himself playing with the government of a single country. Once he steps into his rightful role he will be the head of the great family. England will no longer be his only concern.” John looked surprised and Harold laughed gleefully, a wicked tone mixed with the joy. “Oh that's right my boy. You are marrying into one of the most prestigious and powerful families around. The Holmes Seat is directly tied to every royal family across Europe, Russia and parts of Asia Minor. Governments are toys our family uses. Mycroft is a singularly powerful man, as Sherlock could be if he were even partially interested which he has never been. Fortunately for him Mycroft thrives where he is as he was bred to and has even thrown an interesting wrench in the works by working to marry a commoner just like his little brother. Oh don't look surprised. He may have just begun his romance with that young man but I can see from here what Mycroft's goal is. He's never brought one of his paramours to a family gathering. There's only one reason he'd bring his DI. He plans to marry him.”

Sherlock looked thoughtfully at his older brother who was still diligently making the rounds with Greg in tow. The DI looked harassed and irritated but he followed his boyfriend around loyally, shaking hands and making himself known to people who could care less who he was. Every last one of them probably had plans to remove Greg somehow. Mycroft was a desirable commodity that shouldn't be wasted on someone as magnificently unimportant as a detective. Sherlock considered his brother. Mycroft was a long term planner. Even if he'd only just gotten around to asking Greg to go out with him it wasn't unreasonable to assume he also had plans to swiftly seduce and secure the Detective Inspector as firmly as he could to himself. “If Mycroft was at all intelligent he'll propose to Greg sooner rather than later, before the family has a chance to scare him away. I'm glad I asked before you met anyone.”

John looked over at his friend as he stood behind his much younger partner. Mycroft was introducing Greg to another batch of cousins, all of whom seemed to blaze with understated elegance and class. Lestrade stood there politely and took in their names but didn't have any more expression than Mycroft. John was a soldier and he knew all of them were in a battlefield. Greg was watching Mycroft's back, knowing full well they were both targets. “Greg wouldn't run any more than I would. The fact that he came today proves how much he actually cares for Mycroft. He won't run.”

Greg and Mycroft finally worked their way to their group. Greg shook Harold and Bill's hands with more warmth than he'd shown any of the other people he'd met, “Nice to see some real faces for a minute. I swear this family has just the one expression!” Harold laughed loudly and whacked Greg on the arm in a friendly way. Greg's hair seemed more silver than ever compared to Harold whose hair was snowy white with age.

“Greg told Cousin Elise he could smell marijuana on her and threated to arrest her if she didn't name her dealer. He's already called someone to arrest the individual and she's in the back laying down with a case of nerves.” reported Mycroft with understated pride. Greg just shook his head in disgust. He hated stupid criminals almost as much as Sherlock did. If you were going to commit a crime he felt you should at least make an effort to be clever about it.

Sherlock beamed with equal pride, “John has offended nearly everyone here by refusing to remember their names. You know how touchy they all are about it. He's been calling everyone Harold or Grace.” the actual Harold laughed loudly all over again. It was a childish thing to do which is what annoyed the family so much. John wasn't going to outwit them but gently needling them was just as satisfying.

“I like these two! Good choices Mycroft, Sherlock. Good choices.” Harold was very approving. Greg and John grinned at one another, comrades in arms now that they were both claimed openly by the illustrious Holmes brothers. Both of them understood they were targets for oncoming machinations and personal attacks and neither of them cared a bit.

Greg looked at Sherlock and John. He looked stern, the heavy silver in his hair suddenly making both men recall the true forcefulness of Lestrade's character. “What about that other matter?”

“John dealt with it. It's all taken care of.” said Sherlock calmly and they dropped the subject. John cut his eyes at Victor and Greg followed along. The DI took one look at the still trembling man and smiled a little smile. With a satisfied nod he turned back to Mycroft who looked grimly satisfied.

Harold looked at Mycroft. He spoke in a voice so soft only their small group could hear his words. “When are you going to challenge your mother boy? You can't wait forever.” Mycroft shut his eyes and looked strained. Greg looked concerned and glanced up at Mycroft who still hadn't opened his eyes.

“After the holidays uncle. This is my last bit of freedom. I want to enjoy it while I can.” Uncle Harold looked sympathetic but firm. Greg looked a little concerned and Mycroft looked even more uncomfortable and regretful. When Mycroft opened his eyes again the first thing he did was look down at Greg with determination. There was definitely a plan in place.

“No longer Mycroft. You've waited a shameful long time and she's getting cocky. Sherlock. You're doing good boy but you need to do better and become your brother's support. Find a way. John. Help him. You've balanced him out. You can help too. It's a big world and Mycroft will have only a few people he can depend on. Be part of that. Put aside the games, you're all beyond that now.” Harold looked sharply at Sherlock who wouldn't look his way but the younger man did nod his head one time. Harold seemed satisfied.

Bill looked over the whole group. “Wow. I feel like I've just attended a world summit or something. Come on Harold. Time for me to drive you home. Don't flip everyone off this time. It's always awkward.” Harold laughed and did exactly that, garnering offended sniffs from everyone who saw.

“I'd forgotten how pleasant Uncle Harold could be.” remarked Sherlock. The old gentleman was bent nearly in half with age but his eyes remained bright as his young friend escorted him carefully away. The elder flipped off a few more choice relatives before making his goodbyes to Victoria with Bill grinning on his arm. John and Greg waved merrily at the pair and got a cheeky wink from both of them in return.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock. “We must bid Mummy goodnight Sherlock. Come along Gregory my dear, we can go home soon.” Sherlock took John's arm this time and led him after Mycroft and Greg who settled for walking side by side with no other display of affection. While people looked at Mycroft covetously their eyes slid away from John and Sherlock as if they didn't exist. John was completely fine with that.

Mummy was not, “Sherlock. You continue to disappoint me. I have yet to hear a word of apology about your three year absence. You haven't come to see me in all the time you've been back. You didn't do me the honor of telling me in advance that you were engaged. You are intent on marrying the last man in the world I would approve of. You've gone from being dependent on Mycroft to care for you to having John do it for you. This marriage will be farcical.”

Sherlock reeled as his mother attacked mercilessly. He rallied quickly. “I called to tell you I was alive as soon as I landed, even before I saw John. I called from the airport. That was the first time you told me how disappointed you were. You also told me that I was not welcome home and that I could bide my time waiting for an invitation once you'd had time to settle yourself. Tonight was the first I've heard from you Mummy. You haven't cared to ask if I was alright or be concerned that I most certainly was not. John helped me through it all. He always does. I can rely on John no matter what. I trust him. We've loved each other all this time and he's been there for me even when I wasn't there for him. My proposing to John has nothing to do with anyone but ourselves. We told the people who cared to know.”

Mycroft inserted himself between the two of them neatly, forestalling even more bitter words, “Mummy the evening has been delightful. I will be taking Sherlock and John directly back to their home. I'll see you for lunch on the second as usual.” Mummy suffered him to kiss her cheek but turned away from Sherlock who had stood there silent and unmoving.

“Mrs. Holmes it has been an enlightening evening. Thank you for the invitation.” John was exquisitely polite. He nodded his head at her before leading a silent Sherlock away by his arm. Mummy said nothing, not acknowledging John's presence at all. John took Sherlock's hand after getting them both their coats. Mycroft and Greg led the way again as they exited Holmes Manor.

Once they were safely in the car and on their way Greg grinned and looked at John. “So what happened with Victor Trevor? I barely caught a glimpse that one time.”

“Victor dragged me up to my old bedroom and tried to do what he always did. John hit him several times in rather lovely places and threatened to hunt him like an animal.” answered Sherlock instantly. He went from being somber to being proud of his lover, “Victor was nearly wetting his pants. Sargent Murray unintentionally helped by telling everyone how dangerous John really was.”

“I do have a charming warehouse, very isolated should you ever require it John.” offered Mycroft immediately and John burst out laughing. Sherlock actually smiled affectionately at his older brother.

“I told Victor you'd be happy to help.” John explained the rest of the threat. Greg laughed and asked for the picture to be sent to his phone. He forwarded it to Scotland Yard tagged as a potential drug connection and human trafficker. After he sent the information he glanced at Sherlock who looked tense, “If he tries to blab about Sherlock we say he was undercover and no one's the wiser. Simple.” Another of Sherlock's worries neatly dealt with.

Sherlock didn't say anything but then he didn't need to. Both Greg and John knew how deeply they had affected the younger man's life. Both Mycroft and Sherlock were genuinely grateful for the interference and would each be thanking their lovers privately. Each couple carefully ignored the other so John held Sherlock discretely, their fingers laced together and John's arm holding Sherlock's waist. Sherlock was strung tight, tense and ready to explode. It took forever to arrive back on Baker Street.

“Drinks another night, we'll visit before the New Year.” said Mycroft by way of farewell. John and Sherlock just climbed out without a word and let themselves back into their flat. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be back for days now. She was off enjoying the rest of the holidays with her family.

John pushed Sherlock up against the wall the second their door was shut and kissed him possessively. “That bastard laid his fucking hands on you. I should have been there faster. I'm sorry Sherlock. Forgive me. I was supposed to protect you and he struck you! Your family! I would be in jail a hundred times over for the amount of times I wanted to hit someone tonight.” He ran his hands protectively over Sherlock, checking him for damage as if he could smooth the hurts from Sherlock's psyche the same way.

Sherlock relaxed immediately and kissed John ardently, running his long fingers over John's hair and down his neck until he was able to pull the smaller man tight against him. “There's nothing to forgive. You saved me John. It was probably the most romantic thing to ever happen to me. I've never watched you work someone over. I was so impressed.” John smiled into Sherlock's heated kisses.

“Yeah? You like me being rough for you? We can find him again if you want. The next time you're out of sorts we'll go look him up and I can kick him around for a few minutes, how's that for a plan?” Now Sherlock was laughing softly and it made kissing awkward. John smirked and kissed Sherlock until the younger man was sighing softly and holding himself bonelessly against the doctor. “I know what it looks like for you to be free from Mycroft one minute and engaged to me the next. It's going to look like you're using our marriage to hide. I don't care what people think of our marriage. If you need me to protect you that way then I will, gladly. You wouldn't even need to love me back. My job is looking after you Sherlock. I don't care what your mum thinks about that. I am pleased to do it and I'll keep doing it. You just stay brilliant and I'll do everything else. ”

“It's a deal John. It's worked very well for us so far. You're stuck with me loving you back though.” Sherlock was so happy looking. His eyes were half lidded and lazy. His body was supple and almost limp as he draped himself over John who held him up easily. “I was uncomfortable tonight but you made everything so much better. I've never known how to deal with the family. They infuriate me and I find myself helpless to strike back. How you were with the cousins, impressing Uncle Harold, hitting Victor! It's like all my problems were extinguished in one big go. I'm actually having a bit of trouble adjusting to the idea of being alright.”

Sherlock's hands were wandering down John's arms before circling carefully over and up his back. The younger man looked flushed suddenly and his eyes darkened. He had been sitting on John's thighs for a while now. His large hands squeezed John's shoulders again before wandering appraisingly down his arms once more, “You're very strong John.” he breathed huskily. Sherlock bit his lip almost coyly and let his fingers wander over John's back.

John rolled his hips into Sherlock's causing the dark haired man to gasp. “I like holding you up. It feels like I was always meant to.” John rolled his hips again before catching Sherlock's mouth in a burning kiss. Sherlock exhaled softly and wrapped his long arms tight around John's neck. John loved the feel of Sherlock winding himself around John's body. Brilliant, gorgeous, incredible Sherlock Holmes was wrapping himself like ivy around John Watson because it made him feel safe and wanted. Both men were gasping in between kisses, their teeth and tongues battling for dominance, “Bedroom. Need to see you.”

John bore Sherlock swiftly away. He tossed the long lean detective onto the mattress so he could strip off his clothes. Sherlock fumbled for a second but quickly peeled out of his suit in short order. John nearly pounced as he pushed Sherlock to the pillows before covering his body with open mouthed kisses. “My John!” moaned Sherlock who was almost helpless with desire. John was tender and passionate. The combination was driving Sherlock wild and the lust that pounded through him made him weak limbed and useless.

When John's mouth covered Sherlock's erection the younger man almost screamed. It was a fight not just to empty himself in his lover's mouth and John only smiled and kept going. When Sherlock's body tensed and bowed John ruthlessly held the base of Sherlock's penis and pulled away until the detective relaxed and began breathing easier. “Something I want. Need to.” John was having trouble forming whole sentences but he was doing so much better than Sherlock who was already reduced to moans and near sobs.

John watched Sherlock's face as he dribbled lube onto his hand. The young man was falling apart. His cheeks were stained with a deep passionate red, making them look hot and almost swollen. His lips were bruised and Sherlock was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Those gray green orbs were blown wide open and almost colorless. John didn't blink as he dipped his hand down and began to finger himself open. He'd done this once before out of curiosity and was glad he'd figured out all the awkward bits himself. He didn't want a distracted Sherlock Holmes deciding research was required.

John needn't have worried. Sherlock's mouth opened and closed several times before he croaked out a faint, “ _Oh god_.” His eyes were now wide open and he panted hungrily. Sherlock's hands crept up until they were cupping John's backside. Those long fingers kneaded and spread John's cheeks wide as the doctor fitted one finger after another carefully.

John pushed himself faster than he would have done his lover, anxious for the experience he was aching for. When he judged himself ready he swiped lube hurriedly over Sherlock. “Want this. Dreamed about it. Love you.” John's voice was hoarse and ragged. His hips shook as he positioned himself. Sherlock reached down with equally shaking hand and held himself at John's entrance.

John stared directly into Sherlock's eyes. He began to push down, the only sign of discomfort the occasional widening of his dark blue eyes. Sherlock was gasping frantically now, desperately holding himself together. The young man had sat himself up slowly so he and John were face to face, John now fully embracing his lover. After a whole body shudder the dark haired man managed to pant, “Oh John. You marvelous, beautiful, perfect man.” Sherlock's eyes rolled back and his hips thrust upward. He managed to get his arms back in time to brace himself as John took over and began to ride slowly.

John groaned. His head fell forward against Sherlock's shoulder as his thighs flexed. “Sherlock. Fuck. You're cock is long. Fuck. So good. Wanted this for ages. So much better than I dreamed. Fuck. Not going to last!” John's hands flew to Sherlock's shoulders as he began to ride up and down roughly. Minutes flew by in an instant. John’ hips swirled around hard and both he and Sherlock shouted as they began to orgasm.

Sherlock bit down on John's shoulder, his fingers clawing at the smaller man in an effort to drive his muscular body down onto his cock even harder. John spread his legs as wide as he could and accepted as much of Sherlock as he could manage while both of them arced and pulsed together. John thought the feel of Sherlock's come jetting deep into him was the finest sensation he'd ever experienced. The sound of Sherlock moaning John's name over and over again was nearly as fine.

They fell back onto the bed together, sweat slick and almost heaving. Sherlock's eyes were closed and his face was still heavily flushed. He looked mildly stunned as he dragged in one deep breath after another. “John. You are magic.” sighed the detective after a long while. John smiled to himself and lay back, very content with the state of the world.

Sherlock curled himself up tight to John's side eventually. John stroked Sherlock's curls and held his hand gently. The protective feeling he'd had all night had not subsided. He felt the urge to coddle and comfort his young lover. Deciding to go with his instincts he pulled the taller man closer and hugged him tight. Sherlock's body trembled for a second and then John felt warm moisture on his chest. Sherlock was crying.

John just held him close and kept petting Sherlock's dark curly hair. Sherlock was nearly silent as he let himself feel the shock and horror of his past finally begin to purge. His shoulders shook softly but apart from ragged breaths he made no noise. The dignified young man didn't want to weep but the catharsis he was experiencing demanded it. John smoothed Sherlock's hair tenderly and allowed his lover as much time as he needed.

It would take time but eventually Sherlock wouldn't hate himself. John would love him and help him until Sherlock could finally look back at himself and know that it wasn't his fault, that someone had taken his choices and warped everything that was beautiful about the younger man. Sherlock would require some quiet time in the next few weeks as he adjusted to all the changes. John didn't mind. It was all part of living with Sherlock's brilliance. Watching the process was part of the beauty.

When he felt Sherlock was done because the man was amazingly quiet John reached over and got a couple of tissues. Sherlock sat up and mopped his eyes and blew his nose. His blue gold eyes looked stormy and faintly red. Even in his distress Sherlock was beautiful. “I'm sorry John. You must think me weak.”

John shook his head. “Not even slightly. I think it's amazing that it's taken nearly forty years of pressure to finally make you crack just a bit. I think you're the strongest person I've ever met. I think you've done so well for yourself despite how you’ve suffered. I think I've very fortunate to have caught your interest and I think I'm beyond lucky that I earned your heart. I feel honored that you trust me enough to be vulnerable around me and I swear I'll never betray that trust. I'm not afraid of a good fight and if I have to fight to keep you I'm more than willing to take on any comers. Your family may have been accustomed to taking cheap shots but it's all a brand new game from now on.” he held his arms out and Sherlock melted back into his embrace. John loved how supple Sherlock was, how he molded himself to the doctor, every bit of his long lean frame pressed tightly against him.

“You are brave John. Bill was right. Our family is made of wretchedness incarnate. Victor was right too. I am damaged goods. John how can you feel love for me, especially after learning how I used to be? I'm a living disaster. I don't react normally to anything. I ruin everything I touch.” Sherlock's self-loathing was back in full force. John just kissed the top of his head tenderly.

“Nonsense, your family isn't any better or worse than anyone else, better dressed maybe. Victor is the damaged one. He had to resort to harsh chemicals to get what he wanted. You use that incredible mind of yours and you don't need anything to help you. We both know that. I never get tired of it. Tell you what. You make a list of everyone who's ever given you grief and I'll see about kicking all their asses. How's that? Physical brutality is about all I bring to the equation.” Sherlock was devastatingly talented, rich, and gorgeous. John was still ordinary, broke, and plain.

“I don't deserve you John. You're so good. You are living elegance, simple and perfect. It makes me ashamed to know you're willing to defile yourself by letting me close. I should have been strong enough to stay away.” Sherlock was already drawing himself away but John just pulled him calmly back.

“I told you nothing would keep me from you and nothing will, including you. I know you want to be with me and I most certainly want you to be with me. Stop trying to find reasons to turn me away because it won't work. I'll listen to everything you have to tell me about yourself but none of it can make me love you less. I survived you dying. Anything compared to that will be mildly annoying at best.” Sherlock's eyes locked onto John's after he said this. John looked back at Sherlock and allowed himself to remember the grief he'd felt. “I wanted to die Sherlock. I didn't know how much I cared about you until I didn't have you anymore. After I realized I'd never get a chance to hold you, never get a chance to tell you I loved you, never get a chance to give us a chance I was devastated. I could barely function for the longest time. It took me weeks to leave the flat, months before I could even act normally. I love you Sherlock. I'm willing to put up with absolutely any sort of torment in order to keep you living and if at all possible, happy as well. I love you.”

Sherlock kissed John's face all over. “I missed you so much while I was gone. I thought of you every day. Whenever I had to get a new identity I always used some form of your name somewhere. When I needed to blend in I wore jumpers and jeans because that's what ordinary people wear, what my John wears. I missed you enough to try and be with you somehow, even doing something as pathetic as dressing as you would.” Sherlock blushed as he confessed and John couldn't help feeling happy. It helped knowing that Sherlock had thought of him so intently. It made dealing with the residual grief that much easier.

“We'll need time darling, time to take it all in, time to adjust. Still. I don't want to wait forever before I can legally tell everyone to fuck right off so when do you want to get married?” Sherlock laid his head back down on John's chest and John resumed running his fingers through his lover's hair. “I'd rather not make a big production out of it unless that's what you always dreamed about. I'd be happy getting married someplace quiet and just sneaking away after.”

“I can't keep telling you how perfect you are John. It's already sounding old but you are. Are you sure you wouldn't mind? I can ask Mycroft to find someone to do the service for us and he and Greg can be our witnesses but I don't want to do this in front of the world. No one matters except you.” John was extremely happy. The thought of an overdone wedding with all the production that went into it was nauseating. It would be so much better keeping it as tiny as possible.

“That would make me happy, especially if it makes you happy. We can go someplace boring for a honeymoon. I don't plan to let you out of bed for anything anyway. We could just rent a bed somewhere. How's that for high end romance?” Sherlock was giggling and hugging his doctor tight.

“It sounds perfect John. I'll call Mycroft in the morning. We can do this as soon as he can arrange it. We'll have to be back for New Year but before and after that can be our time.” John liked the sound of that. He caressed Sherlock tenderly and felt grateful all over again.

“Sooner than later then Sherlock if you don't mind my unseemly haste. It seems to me we've wasted enough time not being married. We can do everything else after. If Mycroft finds it necessary I'll even sign a prenuptial agreement. I'm seriously not interested in the family power dynamics.” Sherlock straddled John's hips and looked down at him seriously.

“I know you're not John. You could care less about money and power. That's one of the things I love about you. I know you'd sign if you needed to but I don't want it. I want to share everything with you. I want every part of our lives to be equal. You're the only person in the world I feel good being with. You make me feel good about myself and I want you to feel good about yourself. I don't want you to be embarrassed about the differences in our world. That's all just surface. It's inside that's important. Do you think I'd love you more or less because of your wardrobe or the size of your bank account? It's never mattered to you and it doesn't matter to me. I love you. You seem to love me. I'd ask you to marry me but I did that already.”

“Yeah I still can't believe you want to marry me. I can see why using a ring is so popular. It gives me something tangible to hang onto when the entire concept seems like a dream. You really sure you want to marry me? You're so beautiful Sherlock. You're smart and talented. You've got connections with every sort of important person imaginable. I won't lie and try to say I feel very confident going up against that because I don't. I'm worried you'll come to regret rushing into this just because I said yes so easily.” John sounded anxious.

“Do you love me John? Seriously, think for a minute and tell me. Do you love me?” Sherlock's eyes were stormy again. He looked down at John almost angrily and John did as he was asked. He went through his mind and considered everything he knew about himself and about Sherlock. He thought of how they smoothed each other's rough edges, how being together gave them both an advantage. He thought of all the times where their lives had been at risk and the sheer joy of the hunt when they ran through the streets after one or more criminals. John thought of all the times where Sherlock had miraculously pieced together clues to make a picture out of broken disjointed bits of information. He thought of the first time he'd called Sherlock brilliant, amazing, fantastic. Sherlock had been so surprised. His cheeks had flushed and he had been momentarily flustered by the praise. John knew he was the only one to look at his mad man with love and only love. John loved him even when Sherlock drove him insane. John loved him even when he was blazingly angry. John had loved him even when his heart had shattered to a million lonely pieces. He'd never stopped loving Sherlock. Not for an instant.

All those thoughts and more whirled through John Watson's mind in a single heartbeat before he answered, “I love you Sherlock. I always will.”

“Then marry we shall.” Sherlock was resolute and tucked himself firmly against John's side. He deliberately closed his eyes and made it plain that further discussion was not welcome though continued cuddling would be acceptable. John grinned to himself and began petting Sherlock's curls again. The taller man melted against John instantly and all their insecurities evaporated. They simply lay there and loved one another.


	4. Little Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have survived Christmas dinner and made their way safely back to London.

 

John and Sherlock had fun for the rest of the holidays, or what passed for fun in their world. Apart from now sharing a bed their lives were very much the same and both men were grateful that their friendship was as firm as ever, enriched by the changes and so much better than either of them could have anticipated. Greg and Mycroft had come over the very next night as promised and they’d played cards till early in the morning, something which John and Greg had no problem admitting they enjoyed but that neither Mycroft nor Sherlock would allow themselves to say first. It didn’t matter, Greg and John just planned another evening without asking their stubborn partners who put up a lot of loud complaints but no outright objections.

 

After that Lestrade let them take on all the goriest cases that cropped up, the season somehow bringing out the worst as well as the best in people so the days tripped by with careless ease and suddenly the New Year was upon them. John smiled many times while they worked, able to more openly appreciate his lover while he waited, and very much enjoying seeing Sherlock use his dog-tags as a focal point when he was lost in thought, just pressing them to his lips as he sat motionless. He wore them all the time now and John loved it.

 

 Sherlock and John enjoyed their opera tickets and afterward said farewell to the old year in bed together, attempting to stave off orgasm until the bells rang but forgetting entirely as they got lost in one another. Not even the plenitude of fireworks at the peak of midnight could distract them, not when the fires between them burned so much hotter. The next morning John had a lot of trouble walking around but his smile never faltered and Sherlock’s face was smug and proprietary. The detective also wore a small line of bruises low on his neck and whenever John’s eyes touched them Sherlock blushed faintly.

 

They had dinner with Mycroft and Greg on the evening of the first, John having more or less recovered though he still sat gingerly. Greg was now wearing an ornate silver ring that matched one on Mycroft’s hand. John and Sherlock noted them with smiles but nothing was said.  Nothing needed to be said. After dinner was concluded and they were in the den enjoying drinks Mycroft heaved a sigh and looked at Sherlock, “I wish for you and John to accompany us back to the estate tomorrow.”

 

“Why?” asked Sherlock sharply, John was glaring at Mycroft. The doctor had assumed they would not need to return to there any time soon, why now?

 

“You will need to be there.” was all Mycroft would say but he looked so miserable that all of Sherlock’s normal taunts evaporated, “I will send a car to pick you up at nine.”

 

“Very well brother.” said Sherlock, making John nervous by acquiescing without a fight. No more was discussed that night. Greg looked worried and John was even more concerned. He asked Sherlock about it as soon as they went home, “Mycroft is going to take control of the family. That means setting aside Mummy.”

 

John really didn’t want to see this but Sherlock was going and John simply nodded. Together, like always. Sherlock tucked himself into John’s arms and buried his face against John’s neck. They were in bed, dressed in pajamas for once. John just held Sherlock close and let the man take comfort in his presence. John understood now why he’d made such an impact with the tall young man in his arm. After a lifetime of neglect and abuse, to have spent so many years being used or ignored, having found someone like a ragged and greying doctor who found Sherlock nothing but marvelous would be an irresistible draw for Sherlock.

 

There was nothing John could say, no way to prepare them for whatever might occur on the morrow so he held his lover close in his arms to comfort them both. John didn’t want to see Sherlock’s mother any more than the detective did. He didn’t want to return to the Holmes estate either. That place held no good memories for Sherlock. Until John, Mycroft had been the warmest person in Sherlock’s family and it made John shudder to think of how unloved his beautiful man had been for so long. Never again, John would love Sherlock openly, fiercely and forever. He’d never lack for love.

 

Morning arrived too soon. John and Sherlock woke late, still tangled together. They barely had time to quickly wash and dress. John knocked together some breakfast sandwiches while Sherlock put coffee into travel mugs. They made it to the street just as their car showed up. John was so tired he slept most of the way and woke with his head on Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock was sleeping too, a small-smile on his face and his hand cradling John’s head. A discrete knock on the window from the driver woke him up, “We’re here John.”

 

They tidied themselves up as much as possible. John was wearing a very nice jumper Sherlock had found for him and brand new trousers they’d purchased together at a shop where Sherlock wouldn’t let John look at the price tags. John felt very smart looking and Sherlock seemed to agree.

 

The estate was as cold and unwelcoming as it had been at Christmas. Even in the depths of an English winter it seemed colder than the other parts of the country. Mummy was waiting inside and there were a large collection of cousins roaming around looking arrogant. “What’s happening today love?” something was clearly going on.

 

“Today is the day Mummy puts out the report on the family fortune, adjusts everyone’s finances and basically decides how everyone will exist for the next full year. That’s why so many of the cousins are here; they’ve probably been flattering her for weeks now.” Sherlock looked grim. He’d only just gotten back in control of his personal fortune so John wasn’t sure how today would impact him, “Every single member of the family receives something like a bonus, depending on how the various incomes have fared. The head of the family is completely in control of what percentage you receive. I haven’t received Mummy’s blessing even once since she took over from my late father. Papa at least used to give my portion to Mycroft to put away in a savings account. The trust that was divided between Mycroft and myself is an entirely different thing.”

 

“What the fuck is wrong with this family?” demanded John. Was money the only thing they were interested in? Mummy Holmes seemed to exist only for her social stature and influence. John’s family had all sorts of problems but even during the blackest of the family feuds that had occurred not once had a Watson been so cold to their blood. Even Harry had taken John in after he’d come back from Afghanistan and they didn’t exactly get on.

 

“If I knew John perhaps I would have fared better.” said Sherlock tersely. He was wired tight. John pulled him aside before they searched out Mycroft and Greg who had arrived much earlier, “John.”

 

John kissed Sherlock hard and squeezed him tight for a long moment, “I love you Sherlock. I love you no matter what. I don’t know what’s happening today but whatever it is will happen to both of us, together right?”

 

“Always John.” now Sherlock was smiling softly again. These reassurances were becoming a regular part of their relationship as John worked tirelessly to provide Sherlock with as much support and affection as he could. John was waging a one-man war against years of neglect and abuse and he was determined to win. John would not stop until  he knew Sherlock felt lighter, cleaner, and just better about himself.

 

“Right, let’s go then. Rubbing up on you always gives me ideas but your family home keeps putting me off.” Sherlock had to grin down at John as he was taken by the hand and led. John looked at the milling groups of cousins and without Sherlock’s assistance managed to deduce where the big important meeting was happening. In a very few minutes they were in a large chamber set up like a conference room. Mummy was sitting at the head of the table while Mycroft sat to the side. More than Greg was with him though. Anthea was there as well as two or three other people in high-end business suits working on slim laptops and looking very serious.

 

“Sherlock, you took your time.” snapped Mummy by way of greeting, “Now can we get on with this? We could have been well finished by now if we’d begun when _I_ was ready.”

 

Sherlock and John said nothing, merely sitting at the opposite end of the table where two chairs were blatantly waiting for them. As soon as they were seated Mummy opened a leather-bound folder and removed a sheet of paper, clearly intending to read it out. “Pardon me Mummy.” said Mycroft, and his voice was very soft, “I believe the document you are holding is incorrect.”

 

“Nonsense Mycroft, this is exactly the document I had drawn up, I reviewed it several times while I waited for Sherlock to dilly-dally his way here.” Mycroft said nothing to his mother but Anthea slid a regular paper folder toward the regal woman, the PA’s face as expressionless as her boss. “What is this?”

 

“This is the report to be announced Mummy. The real report, not the incompetent fabrication you normally present. The file contains an actual financial plan, a stable one that will provide realistic support to the family members who require it, and removes a rather substantial percentage of hangers-on who are not entitled to allocations despite their attachment to you.” Mycroft was still speaking softly but he didn’t pause even when his mother tried to interrupt, “I have notified all involved parties regarding my status as head of this family, relieving you of the legally unsupported role you took upon yourself when Papa died. You have no right to control the Seat. It is mine and I shall utilize it according to my wishes and not yours. You will of course enjoy the lovely retirement villa I have arranged for you in France. I made sure it was close to your remaining cousins.”

 

“You wouldn’t _dare_.” hissed their mother, glaring at her eldest son furiously, “You are unable to move against me.” Certainly she had spent his whole life training Mycroft to obey her implicitly.

 

“My dearest Mummy, it is already done. I don’t have to dare, it’s already finished. We’ve allowed you to finish the year with the idea that you’ve been in control. It’s easier to simply write off the expenses you’ve accrued than it was to deal with the drama of having you un-Seated during the holidays.” Mycroft simply looked at his mother who was livid. “My legal team has already scrutinized the relevant documentation; all of it has been approved in all the appropriate places. Really all that is left is for you to pack and leave.”

 

“You would not leave the estate unattended. What are you going to do, live here with your commoner?” spit Mummy who was tearing up the documents in front of her savagely. There was nothing she could do and Mummy knew she was grasping at straws.

 

“This estate is not mine Mummy, surely you realize that. As the head of the Great Family of course I will remain in London. The estate will be in the hands of the new head of the Holmes family. Sherlock, and after they wed, John as well.” shocked silence came from either end of the table. John was reeling visibly whereas Sherlock seemed carved of stone. John recollected the talk at dinner during Christmas as Sherlock reeled off the names of the heirs “ _After Mycroft it's me_ ” suddenly roared to the foreground. A lot had happened that night and John hadn’t really taken in that comment properly. Sherlock was now the head of the loathsome Holmes family!

 

“You’re throwing me out of my home?” oh my god was Mummy Holmes trying to elicit sympathy from the son she’d trained to despise such emotions?

 

Mycroft looked at her curiously, “Throw you out? No Mummy, of course not. We’re wheeling you out gently. The movers are in your apartments right now, to ensure you don’t accidentally pack up family heirlooms you are no longer entitled to, or claim any items that rightly belong here. Your new villa has been handsomely redecorated; all the amenities await you, including a care-taker.” a guard for her new gilded prison.

 

In her desperation Mummy turned to her youngest, “Sherlock. You know nothing of running this place. You need me.”

 

Sherlock looked at his mother blankly, “I needed you many times Mummy, but now I have John and I don’t need anyone but him. I’m certain we can muddle our way through if we choose to remain here. I don’t really see it happening but that’s how these things go sometimes.” When John heard Sherlock’s declaration his resolve firmed. He would help Sherlock with this, even though neither of them wanted the responsibility.

 

One of the suited people stood and gave Mummy another copy of the documents she’d shredded, “Signed and sealed Mrs. Holmes. Your car is waiting to take you to the airport. We’ve provided an assistant.” another guard to watch her.

 

Mummy was stunned, absolutely stunned. She sat at the end of the table and looked at her eldest son in shock. She had obviously planned a whole day of condescendingly allowing various factions of the family to play up to her, already jockeying for position in next year’s allocation. “This family will tear you apart.” she snarled at her youngest.

 

“This family has already torn me apart. Now it’s apparently within my power to pay them back for their many attentions.” said Sherlock calmly. No one could see how tightly he was holding John’s hand and possibly only Mycroft apart from John could see that Sherlock was as staggered as his mother. He hadn’t expected to be simply handed control over the Holmes family. Sherlock had obviously expected Mycroft to assume control.

 

Mummy glared at John as if he’d made this happen, “You’re getting what you wanted aren’t you Doctor Watson, a rich husband as well as power.”

 

“Like I give a fuck about power or money, I already asked Sherlock to keep me out of this but he refused. I’d marry him if he didn’t have a farthing; Sherlock means more to me than this ugly house or his hideous family. Our flat has kitchen mold with more appealing culture than most of the people I’ve met here.”

 

Mummy was shocked into silence. In only a few minutes she’d been reduced from the near omnipotent authority of a large and ancient family to the role of one of the petitioners she normally kept hanging until the last moment. Mycroft stood along with Greg, Anthea and the barristers. Sherlock and John were only a second behind them, “The rest of the family is now meeting in the ballroom. Have a pleasant trip Mummy. If we have time Gregory and I will plan to visit sometime soon.”

 

Their small group went to the aforementioned ballroom where a small crowd was waiting, all of them seated in long rows so they could see the end of the room easily from anywhere. Most of them were Mummy’s inner circle, and all of them sneered at Sherlock and John, loudly whispered insults carrying clearly through the air. John kept himself from grinning, but only just. Mycroft went to the large chair on a platform. Mummy must have enjoyed ruling her little kingdom like the queen she felt she was. Mycroft made no such grandiose gestures, merely stood there until he had everyone’s attention.

 

“Where is your mother.” someone called out cautiously.

 

“Gone.” said Mycroft blandly and opened his report. “Any early information you may have received about your upcoming allocations has been incorrect.” Mycroft proceeded to go through his report, announcing a very brief list of names and then simply closing his folder sharply.

 

There was a stunned silence and then shouts of outrage and fear began to ring out. “My name was NOT on that list! You have no right!” were only some of the comments that came from the now distraught cousins.

 

“You may of course apply to the head of the family if you feel your claims have been unjustly ignored.” Mycroft looked distantly pleased with the outright panic that was showing on the well-cared for and otherwise useless mass of people in front of him. The tall ginger man turned and smiled down at his little brother, “Sherlock? Would you and John care to accept any petitions for support today?”

 

Sherlock’s smile was now filled with ill-disguised glee. John’s laugh was light and filled with happiness; Sherlock was looking at the stunned and sickened faces of the cousins who had mercilessly contributed to his lifetime of misery. “Each petitioner will have to convince me, and believe me, I will be checking into each of you, closely.” John’s grin was savage now. No one in the world could give a closer review of someone’s life the way Sherlock Holmes could and now the cousins were flabbergasted. The tall man stood and looked down to John, “Feel free to bring your request in writing directly to John. Explain all the reasons you are unable to make your own way in the world and thereby require my family to financially support you. If he feels you’ve made a case I will take his recommendation into consideration.”

 

The near howls of dismay were enjoyable. Sherlock sat himself down in Mummy’s chair and smiled at the crowd in front of him, all of them arguing with one another, none of them brave enough to approach the young man they’d tormented so greatly. John was smirking down at Sherlock, “Are we really going to live here?”

 

Sherlock looked repulsed, “Goodness no! What a horrible idea! I’m not leaving Baker Street. I’ll pick a caretaker from the rabble if we can find a cousin that doesn’t completely annoy me.

Now the fury of debate among the cousins redoubled, all of them jockeying for a chance to be in charge of the estate, “No, none of you. Forget it. Anyone who is here today is unlikely to meet my requirements. Feel free to leave now; don’t come back until your petitions are ready. I’m not staying here forever.”

 

The rest of the day found Sherlock and John locked away with Mycroft’s lawyers, signing document after document as the transfer of power was undertaken. John was required to participate since their marriage was all but accomplished now, “It takes time to arrange, not even Mycroft can hurry the process,” said Sherlock somewhat impatiently, “I can’t wait to return to London.”

 

“How long are we going to be stuck here? I thought it was just for the day.” John was a bit grouchy about that. He didn’t want to stay here with these people! They were awful and there didn’t seem to be a single room in the entire over-sized place that Sherlock didn’t have a bad memory of.

 

“Hopefully we’ll need only a day or two. If it’s longer than that we’ll get someone to bring us some of our things from Baker Street. We didn’t pack clothes or our laptops or anything.” Sherlock was looking over the gathering in front of them and John finally turned his attention to the cousins.

 

They didn’t look well. Most of them were pale to begin with but now they were positively ashen, some of them looking almost green. John stifled a laugh; these assholes were all trying to figure out how to get on Sherlock’s good side. Suddenly he was looking forward to reviewing the petitions with Sherlock. This was going to be interesting. Maybe he’d blog about some of the more interesting family details if Sherlock and Mycroft both gave their okay.

 

They ended up being at the estate for nearly three weeks and it was a nightmare for the entire Holmes family with the rare exception of the Holmes brothers who were taking the opportunity to clean house. Frequent visits to Ancient Harold were some of the few bright spots though Bill was gone back on duty which John regretted. Both Greg and John had taken leave of their jobs to assist in the massive restructuring efforts and the cousins put up a laudable effort trying to be pleasant to their least favorite cousin, “This was what Victor wanted wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t interested in this sort of thing but he was.”

 

“I don’t care what he wanted. You dealt with him and I’m satisfied. I’m looking forward to the next event on our calendar. His family is required to attend; I wonder if Victor will show?” John had erased all of Sherlock’s many fears concerning that particular bad memory. Sherlock no longer feared accidentally running into the man, he looked forward to it because it would mean John would let slip all those many controls on his temper and exact another retribution from him. John’s temper was molten lava buried deep beneath his calm surface. It remained unseen but was ready to burn the second John deemed the time appropriate. John was fantastic.

 

The cousins tried everything to unthaw John. They pandered to him which made him angry, they tried to show interest in his work which was met with disbelief and skepticism, some went so far as to actually read his blog, trying to bring up points of interest which merely served to insult him further. John was unyielding and Sherlock delighted in it. He was currently listening to the latest cousin plead their case. John flipped open their file, “It says here that you have advanced training in maths, you are fully qualified to be a teacher. That’s honest work and there’s such a demand.”

 

The cousin looked absolutely horrified, “Work? A job? Well I never…”

 

John cut the man off, “Yes I can see that you never. Still you are educated, able-bodied, and more than capable of supporting yourself.  Do you have dependents?” John was soft with families with small children, still making one or the other parent get a job because he thought the lot of them were lazy and useless, but never actually removing support from anyone who really needed it. Unfortunately for a large percentage of the prior recipients John and Sherlock insisted that everyone be family. Mummy’s social parasites had to find somewhere else to freeload.

 

“What do you mean?” it made John feel sick at how self-centered most of the cousins really were. They attended all their social obligations with religious fervor but neglected their children’s birthdays, most of the family content to ship their children away to school the second they were old enough. “I have a harridan of an ex-wife. She gets nothing.”

 

Sherlock read another report, “Your children will receive a stipend to compensate for your complete incompetence as a parent. Good day.” He checked the stuttering man’s name off his list. “John I am going to die. This is no longer amusing. We’ve been at this since the beginning of time.”

 

“Today is the last day love, we can do it.  You said you saved this group for last on purpose.” Sherlock sat straighter as a plainly done up woman in her early thirties sat down and began to explain why she couldn’t possibly live without help. She lived in a rental residence and getting a job would mean time away from her project, something that was on the way to completion. John and Sherlock read her file together and took a hard look at the very serious young woman in front of them.

 

“You’re a painter?” she nodded and looked nervous. Sherlock looked her over sharply, “You’ve gone to several different schools.”

 

“I have cousin. I’m presently completing a series of paintings based on the family history. I was hoping to be finished for a show this upcoming winter, a traveling exhibition. I know someone who organizes such things and I wanted to travel with the family memories.” John was actually intrigued so she explained further, “The family has been involved in several historical events throughout time. I have taken twenty separate instances and created a canvas for each one. The paintings take time to evolve and I am not done yet. I know it’s not proper work but…”

 

“Stop Morgance, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. Is it alright if we look at some of your work, not necessarily your show, but something?” She nodded and quirked her head the way Sherlock so often did. Reaching into a rather large bag hanging near her hip she produced a thick book filled with drawings, mostly in ink. John and Sherlock spent several minutes carefully leafing through it. When John gave it back he smiled at her, “I’d love to be there on opening night if there’s room.”

 

She flushed and looked very surprised, “You’ve said no to nearly everyone. I wasn’t sure if I should even ask.”

 

“Everyone who has been removed from the Trust has their own money to live off of, it’s not like we’re leaving anyone destitute. You however, you’re the youngest of a large branch of the family, it’s unlikely you’ll ever see anything of your family’s money but with a little help I imagine you’ll be self-sufficient in no time.”

 

“The sale of only a few of my other pieces will ensure a good introduction into the market but cousin, I do prefer to succeed or fail on my own merit. I feel a bit strangely asking for help but without it I must seek employment and that will significantly expand the amount of time needed to complete my work. The work comes first.” That was a sentiment that John and Sherlock understood perfectly. She left, blushing lightly and looking delighted, garnering sour looks from the others who had tried more than once to change the tides back in their favor.

 

The rest of that day’s petitions went similarly. Sherlock had sifted through his family and found several like minds who simply needed a place to think or create and for those people he was generous, “Stay at the estate.” he ordered several of them, most of whom still lived with their extended families due to their extreme focus on their interests. “There are several apartments that are unused, select the one that suits you the most and take up residence. It’s about time this place was used for something other than parties.”

 

John signaled for lunch to be brought in. They’d retired Mummy’s chef immediately and gotten a replacement; a cousin of Angelo’s who had been looking to start his own restaurant but leaped at the chance to cook exclusively for the Holmes family. Now the meals that rolled out of the vast kitchen were savory and delicious as well as nutritious and satisfying.

 

At the end of the day everyone had been seen to, the estate already bustling as movers who had been on standby began to relocate the lucky few who had been invited to reside within the massive building including Morgance. Most were bookish and timid, responding easily to John but remaining nervous of Sherlock. Sherlock pulled Mycroft aside and had a quick conversation with him. Mycroft looked like he wanted to argue but ended up rolling his eyes and nodding. Sherlock ignored him after that.

 

“Come along John.” Sherlock took John through the building, noting who was staying where and making sure all the new residents were looked after by the staff. They spoke to house-keeping and made sure that there were appointed valets for each room so that the new residents could simply do what they were there to do and not need to worry about meals or laundry or other domestic distractions.

 

They returned to London for a week. “I need to walk the streets John. I miss them.” Sherlock was insistent. The very first morning back Sherlock dragged John all over town, striding boldly here and there with John right on his heels. His phone meowed and Sherlock read the message, “Come along John, Molly is waiting for us.”

 

John rolled his eyes and sighed but followed the way he always did. Sherlock was chattering away, if he’d been anyone else John would have thought the man was nervous. They swept through the hallways of St. Bart’s before descending to the morgue. There was a small group waiting for them, “Ah Lestrade, you made it. I see Mycroft still fits through the door. Molly?” Greg nodded his head at the doors and John gave him a puzzled look. “Let’s go John. Chop chop.”

 

Sherlock strode firmly forward and John was at his back as the twin doors were thrown open. John stopped walking. Mrs. Hudson and a stranger in a suit were waiting for them. “What’s going on?”

 

“You already said yes John, you can’t back out now.” Sherlock took John firmly by the hand and led him right up to the man who seemed to be waiting for them. Everyone was silent and Sherlock was looking down at John with a crooked smile, “You said you wanted to keep it small John.”

 

“Here? We’re doing this here? Now?” John finally realized what was happening and Sherlock’s smile grew wider, “In the morgue?”

 

“Where better John? This is where we met, where everything began.” Sherlock’s smile was soft now, his eyes gentle and happy. John grinned up and his fingers tightened around Sherlock’s. “Let’s begin.”

 

Sherlock and John stood side by side in their everyday clothes and recited their vows in low clear voices, exchanging the rings that Sherlock provided and signing everywhere necessary to be legally declared wed. In only twenty minutes it was complete and John was beaming at everyone, “That was perfect Sherlock, just perfect. I love you.”

 

A chorus of ‘aws’ went through the small crowd as Sherlock kissed his new husband thoroughly, “Come along John, Angelo’s.” Where better indeed? John was incredibly happy. Sherlock had surprised him with a wedding and had set up dinner at the restaurant that meant so much to both of them. Mrs. Hudson was misty as she was escorted by Molly to the cars that waited for them.

 

Angelo was beside himself. He couldn’t serve for the happy weeping. Instead the tall man stood by the kitchen door trying to stem his sentimental tears as he ordered his staff to cater to the whims of his small but joyful party. John and Sherlock grinned with equal delight and neither man let go of the other all through the meal. Dessert was quickly accomplished and champagne provided by Mycroft was shared to end the evening. As soon as the last drop was gone Sherlock stood and told everyone they were leaving, “What, that’s it?” asked John as he was nearly dragged from the restaurant.

 

“Yes John, did you need to spend more time with my brother and Mrs. Hudson because I was rather hoping for a shag so rough one of us won’t be able to walk for days.” John’s brain clearly went off on a short vacation because Sherlock had to tug and nudge his unresisting body into the cab he hailed. The address wasn’t for Baker Street but for a rather high-end hotel that John had only heard about, “I’ve arranged everything.”

 

Sherlock then silenced John’s questions rather delightfully by kissing the man for the duration of the ride, dealing with the unhappy cabby by purchasing his smile back by way of a ridiculous tip. John was dazed and blissfully happy by the time they arrive, not noticing how posh the place was or how underdressed he was compared to the other patrons. Sherlock whisked him into the lift and kissed the doctor breathless all over again before leading him out and to their room.

 

John stopped and looked around. The room was perfect. There was a large balcony they could sit out on if they chose, a large sitting area with a rather tempting looking sofa in front of the oversize telly but what was best was the absolutely lavish bed that waited for them. Sherlock seemed very goal oriented because he gave John only a minute to glance around before he had the doctor back in his arms to begin kissing him all over again, “John. My beautiful perfect John.”

 

John’s heart was going to explode from happiness at the unadulterated joy in Sherlock’s voice. Sherlock was as in love with John as John was in love with him and for the first time John finally realized what a miracle he’d been handed. Sherlock sounded so thankful, so grateful as he murmured over the body of his doctor, “You’re so lovely John, I can’t get enough of touching you. You taste divine, I want to taste you everywhere. What you do to me, I can’t think unless you’re close. I love you John, I love you my husband.” John fell to pieces at the sentiment in Sherlock’s voice and when he came to his senses again Sherlock was kissing him ardently.

 

John had to say it, “Husband.” Sherlock’s entire body trembled so John said it again and once more Sherlock trembled from head to toe, “I love you Sherlock. I always will.” John now found himself being held so tightly he almost couldn’t breathe, “I love you. I love you Sherlock.”

 

“ _Oh John!”_ Sherlock was unstoppable now. Clothes vanished and their two bodies strained to get closer, to unite more, to feel. It seemed only moments before John was ready and Sherlock was easing himself deep inside the doctor, both of them wracked with delighted shocks. John loved this so much though both of them enjoyed topping, John offered himself to Sherlock eagerly and let himself become lost in pure sensation while completely surrounded and filled by Sherlock. Their hips canted together, their sighs and moans worked in passionate harmony with one another, “Close!” gasped John, far sooner than he wanted. He couldn’t help it, the sheer intimacy of the moment was nearly as powerful as the sensations themselves, each thrust was a promise, each drop of sweat that fell was a wish for more. Sherlock responded by wrapping John in his arms and rolling them over so John was riding him.

 

Sherlock kept him close, his long strong arms wrapped around John’s ribs in a vise grip. He had his feet planted firmly on the bed and as soon as John was positioned Sherlock began to drive upward almost franticly. John rutted back, working his hips as best he could but then Sherlock moaned and rumbled at the same time, a deep shaking sound that made John’s eyes snap shut because he couldn’t take any more stimulation. He felt his whole body spasm a single time and then he couldn’t move a muscle as his orgasm locked him into place. Maybe he called out, maybe he moved or thrashed but John couldn’t tell. His nerves were sizzling and snapping, every inch of skin seemed sensitized and John could _feel_ Sherlock’s orgasm.

 

The man beneath him was shaking in ragged bursts, his hips still driving upward in shuddering thrusts. John could feel each racing beat of Sherlock’s heart against his chest as well as deep inside him as Sherlock filled him. It was too much and John’s whole body shook one more time and he felt his cock make a valiant attempt toward keeping its fading tumescence. John faded out for a long moment. When he came back Sherlock was stroking his back tenderly and kissing the top of his head. John was splayed out over Sherlock, his arms just sagged limply along Sherlock’s body, “Welcome back.” whispered Sherlock,

 

“I think you killed me. I’m officially dead.” said John who still couldn’t move. Instead he kept where he was, enjoying Sherlock’s very gentle attentions and soaking in the heat from his lover’s body.

 

Sherlock chuckled weakly, “I hope not, it would rather ruin the rest of my plans.” John smiled against Sherlock’s chest, “Plans for later John, if you don’t mind. I can’t shift my legs at the moment and I’m not very inclined to move.” John let his eyes shut and took in everything he could. He didn’t exactly have a mind palace like Sherlock but he could still commit things to memory when he wanted, and he wanted. This was going to be John’s happy place from now on, this moment when Sherlock smelled of both of them, when their bodies were united and content, when everything was absolutely perfect and they were together in every conceivable way. John wanted to remember the sound Sherlock made when he came and the way both their bodies had worked so marvellously together.

 

They dozed together for a long time and woke up side by side, arms and legs tangled, “I think I’m glued to the sheets.” reported John and Sherlock laughed. It turned out he wasn’t but a bath was definitely required so they tottered off to wash up and soak themselves in the opulent tub that waited. Like everything else in the room it was decadent, both men able to lean up on either end and just soak in the fragrant heat. John had chosen one of the scented bottles of bath oil at random and now the room was filled with a heady mix of sandalwood and lavender.

 

“I’m starving.” John was acutely aware of his empty stomach.

 

“Room service is available around the clock, we’ll call for something.” Sherlock stood gracefully and let the water sluice off him before stepping out. John enjoyed the long lines of his husband, turning the word over and over in his mind and grinned. He pulled the plug as he stood and Sherlock came back to help John step out before folding them both in a huge fluffy towel. John couldn’t stop smiling and Sherlock grinned as he pecked little kisses all over his face, “Come along John, I’m hungry too.”

 

Well wasn’t it a day of miracles! John pinched Sherlock’s still naked bottom and Sherlock swatted his hand away which just made John pinch his bottom with his other hand, “I’m legally allowed now.”

 

“That’s spousal abuse John.” said Sherlock instantly but stopped moving so John’s hand was suddenly filled with a warm cheek, “You could kiss it better.” How could John deny Sherlock anything? Bending down quickly John pressed a solemn kiss over each little red spot his pinches left behind. Sherlock colored so easily but the marks were already fading. John gave them both one more soothing kiss apiece and then followed Sherlock to the hotel phone and the menu.

 

Sherlock glanced over the offerings and called in a substantial order including a selection of desserts, “The honeymoon suite.” he stated at the end and winked at John. Sherlock sat on the sofa and pulled John down on top of him, “We need to get dressed.” he said.

 

“This is helping.” said John as they lay there and kissed for the longest time. A discrete knock at the door made them jump and scramble for the hotel bathrobes. Sherlock’s cheeks were pink and his ears were very red as he tried to deal calmly with the tip. John kept giggling in the background as Sherlock made a valiant effort to ignore the fact that he behaving exactly like a blushing bride. “Gorgeous.” said John with a huge smile.

 

“Shut up John.” said Sherlock but his blush just grew deeper and John’s smile grew wider. Sherlock filled two plates with a bit of everything while John poured some wine. They sat on the hotel sofa side by and ate quietly, even if John kept grinning at Sherlock who could not make his blush go away. The wine turned out to be the very last thing they could manage and with matching yawns they got ready for bed.

 

John lay there and looked at Sherlock on the pillow next to him, “What do we do now?”

 

“We live our lives, we run the family from a distance, we love one another and that’s pretty much it.” Sherlock cuddled himself close to John and John was more than happy to give his husband all the cuddles he needed.

 

“It’s going to be strange being rich and powerful.” mused John.

 

“Well better you than them John.” Sherlock yawned and lay his head on John’s chest. “We’ll have each other, we’ll find people we can trust to work for us and we’ll continue doing what we do.

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Yes John?”

 

“Thanks for marrying me.”

 

John felt a kiss being pressed to his chest, “Go to sleep John.” There didn’t seem to be much else to say. John fell asleep as a married man for the first time and tomorrow when they woke up John and Sherlock would face the world the way they had for so long, together. Always.

 

Something Dumb I Wrote about Sherlock’s Arse:

You'd fit my hand to perfection

I’d be sure to give you an instant erection

Darling believe me when I say

Seeing your arse has made my day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. Until the next story and the next story and the next. I hope you enjoyed this one.


End file.
